The Pedicure
GISELE
H ot water swirled around my tired feet, soothing me into a lull…until Vincent’s loud mouth startled me from the snooze I had going on as we both got our pedicures.
“Girl, when are you gonna tell me about your date?”
“It was very good. We went to the opera and then to dinner.” I nodded, then tried to see if I could find that sweet spot where every muscle released all tension.
The week had been brutal at work; we were having some turnover issues in one of the departments due to some interpersonal challenges that should have never happened in the first place.
An attendee had sustained a secret relationship with one of his residents and it all blew up about a year ago; now, no one wanted to be in the department with the doctor, and honestly, it was time for him to go.
He was making our job very difficult. I’d prayed on what to do, and the answer was crystal clear to the point I was certain Jesus was looking at me with an “Are you for real?” expression on Their face.
“Are you really not gonna elaborate more? Like what y’all talked about, or did things get frisky?
” Vincent prodded, not at all impressed with my short recounting.
I hoarded every memory of last Friday, from the way he described how he would dominate me, the way he just got my likes without much explanation needed, how free I felt sharing things with him, and the spirited debate at the end of the date.
And then the infuriating man, once more, called me a rideshare and pressed a soft kiss on my cheek, promising to await my call and my date idea.
That had been a week ago, and with the ball in my court, I wasn’t certain what to do. We constantly texted. He’d check in on me, asking me about my day. He had an eerie way of texting me whenever I hadn’t had breakfast or lunch.
Jo?o: Hello Gisele, how was your breakfast? I hope you enjoyed the oatmeal recipe I sent you.
Gisele: Oh, actually, I haven’t had time to eat yet.
Jo?o: Well, now is the perfect time. Send me a pic of the overnight oats.
Gisele *Pic of jar with oatmeal*
Jo?o: Seems like the perfect time to eat, boa menina
Gisele: You and your sexy Portuguese trying to convince me to stop and eat
Jo?o: Is it working? Now, do me that favor and enjoy the oatmeal.
Gisele: So bossy.
Jo?o: You don’t even know the half.
Oh, but how I wanted to know.
The ease in our text conversation spoke of a relationship of years and not an acquaintance of weeks. Several nights last week, I fell asleep next to my cell phone with good night texts from Jo?o.
Blaming my work schedule, I kept the promise of another date at bay. That and my volunteer work this weekend were perfectly understandable reasons.
I needed a little space.
Things with Jo?o felt volcanic on the surface of it all, and I was certain he wanted to explore a dynamic with me as much as I wanted to learn from him, but I had to respect his boundaries, no matter how much my heart wilted at imagining me exploring kink with anyone but him.
In my spare time, which was limited and almost nonexistent, I’d devoured every little detail I could about how to find a Dom because the more space I gave myself to imagine how I’d explore kink, the more I understood this was something I should explore…
before I found the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
If there was something Jo?o wasn’t wrong about, it was that kink could be difficult to sustain in a romantic relationship, but my reasons were very different than his.
I wanted to be part of a church family and live a simple but fulfilling life; how could I fit kink into that?
What man who had similar values to me would want to live this lifestyle by my side?
There was a delicious deviance to kink that had nothing to do with evil, but that might not sit well with most church-going men.
Whips and chains? I don’t think so.
But at thirty-eight years of age, I knew that if there was ever a time to take a detour from my path, it was now. When I found a new church, I would have got it all out of my system.
“I’m gonna need you to focus and give me more than this, Gisele.” A sharp stinging pain on my arm jolted me. The skin where Vincent pinched me throbbed in response.
“Hey, you haven’t done that since we were in high school,” I protested.
“Yeah, ‘cause you always had your head in those nasty books you hid from your parents and I needed your attention.”
“Oh, please. Let me live. Listen, I think I want to go to a munch with you.”
“Isn’t your man kinky?”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t mix his kink with his vanilla romantic life.”
“Tell me again, what’s his name?”
“Jo?o. He’s a very well-known Dom from what I understand. I think he has a club and—” My words froze as Vincent’s jaw dropped to the point the lady doing his feet started giggling at him. “What happened?”
“You’re dating Master Q?” Vincent whispered, and I searched around, wondering why.
“Who is Master Q?” But I was messing with him. Quentino was his first name, it had to be him.
“Listen, if you don’t stop with your nonsense…” He reached out to pinch me again, but I reared back, laughter welling up inside me.
“I guess…I guess yes? I mean, he told me he owned a club, but he didn’t tell me his name in the lifestyle.”
“Ooh, this is huge. That man is like… He is very, very respected. Like him and some of his best friends are pillars of the kink community here for us Black and brown folks.”
My chest expanded and I let out a pleased breath. My instinct hadn’t steered me wrong with Jo?o, but hearing external validation didn’t hurt.
“I can see that,” I said.
“Chile…so why do you need someone else to dominate you? There is always a first time to mix things.”
“He doesn’t want that. It’s a hard boundary for him, and I gotta respect it.” Because I certainly had my own boundaries, glaring and impossible to ignore.
“So you not gonna date him anymore?” Vincent’s gaze roamed over me, showering me with skepticism.
White bright pain radiated from inside, my heart twisting in my breast. How could I walk away from the deep attraction I felt for Jo?o?
My heart never worked as hard as it did when I was around him, and even with that excited nervousness, my trust in him lured me to drop all my defenses in his presence.
“You know what I want,” I reminded him, sidestepping the question.
“Mhm, girl, do you know what you want?” Vincent’s words scurried into my consciousness, ready to haunt my dreams.