East Meets West

[OnHarry]

Closed thread for ChinitaMorena and myself, as always pms re questions or story are welcome.



Drew Dibsdale

At seven pm he slumped in his chair, exhausted from his day, in fact exhausted from too many days approaching twelve hours or more over the last year. The company for which he was the chief executive officer had for the first time taken on a contract to supply auto parts for a major Japanese assembly operation. The first North American company, and non Japanese supplier to sell to this particular company.

The last few weeks had been a night mare as he had ended up sleeping at the office several nights while the product launch took place. However it did take place and the customer had experienced not one minute of downtime on their line for the new model car they were building, either from a quality or delivery point of view. They had done it successfully and now he was able to relax. Drew had just gotten off the phone from the head of the board of directors thanking him for his efforts and congratulating him.

He knew that it was not just him it was a multitude of people, from his secretary Mrs. Davenport, down to all the workers on the shop floor and everyone in between. For this launch they had gone way out on a limb at his advice, and built two brand new facilities, hired and trained two sets of staff, and had delivered on time. The new vehicle was coming off the assembly plants lines, in fact they had for two weeks now the critical period in the ramp up to full production, and everything had fallen into place.

The chief had told him take a few days off and Drew intended to, but he did not know what he would do, maybe just sleep, at least more than four hours a night. He got up from his chair feeling totally wrung out, he was tired of everybody needing his guidance and constantly assailing him with questions about all and sundry. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him, he was going to, now the launch was successfully done, start forcing those under him to start using their autonomy and run their departments and branches themselves.

When he walked out of inner sanctum he saw his executive assistant still at her desk working on god knows what at this time of night. “Kristie, why are you still here the launch is done we are go, you can,………GO.”

Kristie Davenport was at least ten years older than Drew’s forty five years; he had deliberately gotten himself the most competent and frankly physically unattractive assistant he could. Kristie divorced, and tending towards gaunt, and currently living with another woman, whether as a friend or lover Drew never asked, but she was a model of efficiency and his best office aide. “I was just hanging on in case you needed any more figures, or wanted me to beat off the jackals.”

Drew grinned despite his state of near collapse, Kristie knew his personality better than anyone, probably even better than his wife, and she could always tell when he needed to be left alone and would act like a mother lion guarding her cubs. “I am taking a few days off Kristie, maybe a week, if you so desire you can do so to.”

Trying hard to hide her grin she said, “its all right for some, but an office like this does not run itself, and frankly there is much to do, so maybe I will take a long weekend, since it is Friday, but I will be back here Tuesday.”

“Do as you wish Kristie, but you are in need of some rest to, however I know better than to fight you on this, you have my home number, and my cell, so call me if the need arises”

“Well barring the outbreak of world war three involving Japan, I doubt you will hear from me.” Then looking more serious she said, “Drew you need more than a week, I want you to disappear for a month and the rest do their jobs for a change.”

“You know what I want?”

“No tell me what do you want?”

“I want to be left alone, I want to do a job or be in a state where someone else makes the demands and decisions, where that person tells me what to do, what to think, how to act, I want to be subservient to their needs and let them do the hard stuff.”

“Well in a way you already are, your under the thumb of all those who rely on you to carry the can, and make the decisions. Most of the people who consult you, know the answer before they ask the question, they just want you to make the decision. Not now though, for the next week at least, you are unavailable and they will have to do it on their own.”

Smiling Drew said, “Thanks Kristie, I really don’t know what I would do without you. Now I am going home, good night, and say hi to June for me.”

Just as he got to the elevator She called after him, “your wife called to remind you she was gone till Wednesday, Chicago I think she said.”

Drew stopped and turned around looking up for a second and then recalling that his wife who was an events coordinator for a large firm was gone to do what she did best. Nodding to Kristie Drew went into the elevator and down to the first floor, and out to the parking garage. He drove a Miata, he could afford much better but he liked this car, it was ten years old and handles like a dream, though now he supposed he might have to buy a car from the company they were supplying.

HE drove out of the garage and out of the business district now nearly empty, and within forty five minutes was pulling into his suburban driveway. He parked the car and went inside, there was a note from his wife that he was in his own, he knew that, and that she was making the trip with her assistant Alfred. No worries there Alfred was gay and unlikely to move on his wife.

He was fairly certain that she had accepted the advances of some guys while in the road, she traveled a lot, but they had the understanding that if and when such a situation arose, it was fine to follow up so long as discretion and decorum was maintained. Not that he ever had, in fact despite being fairly good looking just over six foot dark hair, and trim, he had never availed himself of the chance. Chances are a lot of girls had maybe offered subtly but he did not pick up on the hints, if they had.

Sighing he sat down to the dinner left for him by their maid who did not live in, and looked at the paper. He opened up the business section and after seeing that as far as he was concerned all was right with the world, he noticed the classified section after the daily stock quotations, and saw personals.

Looking at them more out of curiosity than a desire to connect with anyone he glanced through them;

Bi married guy wants to meet same for discreet fun.

“No thanks,” he muttered as he held his wine glass, sipping the Riesling, there were a number of them that were thinly disguised ads for hookers and some odd ones hinting at stuff he knew nothing about. Then one caught his eye and he read the whole ad;

Tired Of Being In Control;

Submit to me, I will take charge, and you will do as your told, and learn to like it.
Call 433-567-2109 for a meeting time and audition.

He read the ad again and then put the paper down, sitting back in his chair he wondered what it would be like to have to submit to the control of someone else. He was sure it must be some sort of kinky weird lifestyle thing, but still.

Then he picked it up again, and reread it, several times every word. He put the paper down and contemplated throwing it out but something stopped him. He watched a ball game after to distract himself. However at least five times before he went to bed he reread the ad.

He woke in the morning knowing it was Saturday, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, it was one thing to take time off but what do you do, he had no hobbies, he did not garden or work wood, he seldom watched television, then the ad came back to him and for some reason he thought of a large woman vaguely Norse or Germanic, with whips and leather. Then he laughed but the thought of her ordering him about making him do as she said having her way with him, he actually masturbated himself.

In the cold clear light of post climax thought, he disregarded his fantasy and got up showered shaved and went downstairs to the kitchen. The paper was lying on the counter and he picked it up and read the ad again. Then thinking, "well if I call this early I won’t get anyone."

As if in trance he dialled the number, his hands were shaking he dialled it slowly stopping at the last number, and hesitating briefly then taking in a deep breath, he pushed the last number. It suddenly occurred to him the ad could be for someone who was gay. Then a soft voice answered, obviously a woman, and then he froze, he could not speak, and the voice at the other end was suddenly harsh and said, “your answering the ad aren’t you?”

Gulping quietly Drew answered, very lowly, “yes”

She answered, ”Alexander’s Tavern, left corner booth, near the washrooms 6 PM sharp and DO NOT BE LATE” She hung up, and left him thinking all morning would he go or not?

 

[ChinitaMorena]

(Amelia Nakpil)

Lia had been looking forward to some alone time for a good long while. And, after quite a bit of cajoling, begging and schedule shuffling, she finally managed to squeeze in some time off for herself.

No overtime work at the design studio. No nephews or nieces to babysit. No errands to run for her parents. No elderly aunts to chauffer around. No friends to help out. No nothing.

Well, not until 10:30 AM at any rate.

She eyed the clock on the wall. “It’s only 7:15 AM.,” she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “You have over three full hours all to yourself, Lia. Whatever are you to do with all that time?” But she already knew. A long, leisurely soak in the tub was definitely in order. Maybe even a pedicure.

“Go ahead, be everyone’s slave,” Cheryl, her closest confidante, would always chide her for being unable to refuse her family, friends and coworkers. But Lia hadn’t been born a carefree, all-American girl like the blonde, blue-eyed Cheryl. She had been born the youngest daughter of a very traditional Asian family. That meant having to do as she was told, when she was told. Even at 23.

Lia sighed and began twisting her long black hair into a severe bun. She was still wrestling with a few stray tendrils when the phone suddenly rang.

"Dammit, she's early," she groaned to herself. Lia’s mother called each morning to give her a daily dose of nagging ... but never at this ungodly hour, and on a Saturday yet! She wrinkled her nose in annoyance but decided it was pointless to prolong the inevitable. Her leisurely soak would have to wait.

"Hello?" she answered in her usual timid tone, one last bobby pin still caught between her teeth.

There was silence from the other end, punctuated only by the faint sound of nervous breathing. Mama was incapable of silence.

So who was it then? Could it be….? Had someone actually answered her ad?

Her mouth gaped open and the bobby pin began to fall. She watched dumbly as it hurtled down to the carpet, seemingly in slow motion.

Finally gathering her wits about her, Lia took one sharp breath and spoke into the receiver. "You're answering the ad, aren't you?" Her words tumbled past her lips in a hurried succession. She made an effort to harden her tone just to mask the knot of excitement and apprehension that began to grow in the pit of her stomach.

A male voice choked back a nervous and almost imperceptible reply: "Yes."

Lia snapped, “Alexander’s Tavern, left corner booth, near the washrooms, 6 PM sharp. And DO NOT BE LATE.” A sudden panic washed over her and, without even thinking, she hung up.

“Ohhhh crrrrrrrap!” she whispered, still in shock that someone had answered her advertisement. She had posted it on a whim. One rare moment when she had allowed her fantasies to get the better of her.

She slowly lowered herself into the tub, suddenly acutely aware of the warm, sudsy water caressing her skin. As if on their own volition, her hands began to gently cup her bare breasts, kneading and teasing the sensitive flesh.

Would his hands feel like this, Lia wondered as she rolled her stiff nipples between her thumb and index finger. She wasn’t certain if she had the nerve to find out.

But one thing was sure, she resolved to be at Alexander’s Tavern, waiting in the shadows. If she liked the look of him if and when he showed up, perhaps she’d muster the courage to approach that left corner booth.

She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to wander lower.

 

[OnHarry]

When whoever it was at the other end hung up, Drew held the phone receiver in his hand staring at it as if he expected it to talk to him. Then slowly, deliberately he placed it back on the cradle. Taking a deep breath, he said aloud, “Jesus what have I done?”

Then it occurred to him he had not done anything yet, just phoned in answer to an ad that was intriguing but not obliging him to answer. Then he thought her voice was weird, so soft and unassuming when she answered, but when she, it had to be a she no guy gay or otherwise would have sounded like that, when she realized he was answering the ad, it changed. How did she know he was answering the ad, she doubtless did this sort of thing all the time, probably an escort service.

There was no way he was going to answer that ad, no way on earth, but……, he was intrigued, what would she make him do, what would she be like?

Alexander’s Tavern, was in a very upmarket business area, not large but big enough, and sort of quirky. There was a guy who came in when he felt like it to play ragtime music, calling himself Alexander’s Ragtime one man band. On weekends there were jazz musicians, occasionally even folk stuff.

Drew reassured himself that if he did not go it wouldn’t matter; she had no name, so no big deal. Then it hit him what if she had call display, seemed that almost everybody did these days, “Shit,” she could trace who he was and then harass him, then for some reason that seemed to be out of the question.

He remembered that he had made coffee and sat down at the counter again, and sipped it while he reread the ad;

Over and over he read that sentence ‘submit to me’, he had not submitted to anyone ever, at least as an adult. Even the board of directors for his company took their lead from him, paying him handsomely admittedly, but this ad, submit to me, but who? Who was this person, what would she do, what would he have to submit to?

For the rest of the morning he tried to distract himself, there was no way he was going to the tavern, so he decided to cut the grass, the only gardening he ever did. He completed that job and then took another shower. While he was showering he thought of himself standing nearly nude while someone, in his imagination a burly big breasted woman with thick blond hair, sat in chair contemplating him. Demanding he do all sorts of menial tasks while she passed judgement on him.

He had gotten rather excited for some reason while he cut the grass and while he was not overly sweaty he took a shower as an excuse to relieve himself, to feel that burst of all encompassing pleasure pass through him. Again after he climaxed in the shower fondling himself he berated himself for acting like some goofy hormone driven teen.

When he was fully dressed it was only noon, still six hours, six hours to decide, six hours to talk himself out of, or into going. Drew needed something to distract him, so he went to the local fine wine outlet he often frequented. He could usually lose himself for a few hours there, pondering this Cabernet, or that Merlot. However today he could not focus so after a fruitless half hour of staring at wine bottles and not really seeing them he got a case of his favourite Pinot Noir from Oregon, and took it home. He spent the next few hours wandering around the house telling himself he had to find a hobby of some sort to take up his spare time if and when he ever got some.

What finally took and held his attention for a while and actually took him out of himself for a few hours was playing a computer version of bridge, on his laptop. That seemed to pass the time without having to think about his course of action. Then he sat back at four thirty and thought, “you’re not really going?” He kept telling himself he was not but he kept thinking what if he did, what if he did go and what if she was some weirdo, and yet……., what if this was something he truly needed.

He thought about Kristie Davenport, what would she say, and then it occurred to him, aside from the obvious he knew little to nothing about her, she may very well have been a very complex, in fact she probably was, individual, with hidden depths. He on the other hand had little or no depth. He was used to looking at a situation, reviewing the salient facts and making a decision, simple and that was it. So why was this so complex, he kept saying he was not going and yet when his mind wandered he found himself getting involuntary erections.

He was not going and that was that, he said to himself at four forty five, and then at five fifteen as he pulled out of the driveway he thought he would just scope out the tavern, sees if it was busy, and see what she looked like. When he arrived there he parked, around the corner, at a meter that required no change after six. Then he walked to the front door, and stood there for a full three minutes, wondering should he just turn around and go back home?

No she did not know what he looked like and so he had the advantage as she would doubtless be there waiting and he could look at her and decide without committing what he would do. The tavern sat on a corner, and as he walked in he noted that to the left there were tables and one booth only, as instructed right near the washroom doors on that side, the bar in the middle directly ahead of him as he entered, and forming a U. The solitary booth was very private, and no one would be able to hear any conversation at the adjoining tables. She had picked her spot well.

“Damn, where was she?” Looking at his watch it showed that it was two minutes to six, so he was on time she was not here yet the booth was empty. At that moment his courage almost failed him, but then he thought maybe she was mot coming it was just some hoax. So comforting himself with that likelihood he walked over to the booth as casually as he could, even though his heart was racing his palms felt clammy, and he was very nervous.

Drew sat with his back to the washrooms so he could survey the entire tavern, problem was except for his immediate area he could see nothing as the late afternoon sun was streaming in from the opposite side of the bar, so everybody near the bar or on the far side of it, were at best silhouettes, or at the worst, invisible.

Looking at the people he could see, there was only one woman on this side of the bar and she was tall, looked like a model, being rather thin, and well dressed but sitting with some guy who looked like a football player. He could discern four or five people on the far side of the bar but only in outline, he could see no features and since they were all sitting he could not tell how tall any of them were, or even for sure if they were male or female.

When the waiter came to take his order he asked for a Newcastle Brown ale, and waited. He was now certain it had been a hoax, so he would enjoy the ale, and go home and not answer any more ads.

It suddenly however occurred to him that maybe she was here, watching him, he could not think of any excuse to go over to the other side as he had sat here deliberatly and the washrooms were beside him.

Suddenly he was nervous again as he sipped the ale waiting, but waiting for what and whom?

 

[ChinitaMorena]

Lia had fully intended to reward herself with a relaxing soak in the tub.

But that was before she had heard the voice on the other line. “His voice,” she said with a faint shiver. So soft, so reticent, so hesitant. He had only uttered a single word yet that lone word was enough to send surge after surge of electricity coursing through her.

Lia rarely gave in to her baser instincts. With far too many responsibilities to juggle, there simply was not enough time to even think about such wanton things. But his voice stirred something within her that was impossible to resist. She watched in amazement as her fingers came to life, tracing every contour of her small frame, from the swell of her generous breasts down to valley between her thighs. To her mind, they ceased to be her fingers. They became his. Whoever he was, they were his.

Lia came within minutes, writhing in the tub as “his” insistent fingers plunged deep into her. Her bathwater sloshed around in waves and splashed down to the tiled floor.

Afterwards, she lay back all flushed and panting, her eyes cast upwards but not really seeing. Questions drifted in and out of her orgasm-addled brain. What did he look like? What was he like? What was his name? Bob, she decided. She would call him Bob. But beyond that, she figured she wouldn’t even venture to guess. Not knowing, she realized, was such a delicious thrill.

She glanced at the clock. It was already 8:37. She had just enough time for a quick pedicure.

 

[ChinitaMorena]

Lia planted the soles of her feet at the edge of the tub and began to paint her toenails a bold crimson. She normally used clear or coral varnish, but no, not today. Her unscheduled orgasm had put her in a rather saucy mood, the kind she often tried to suppress. “Tsk tsk, flaming red. How terribly risqué,” she clucked while shaking her head in disbelief. “What has gotten into you, Amelia? And why do you keep talking to yourself in the third person?” she giggled yet again. She was unaccustomed to feeling so blithe and uninhibited, yet even she had to admit she liked it.

It was half past nine when she finally finished. The afterglow of her climax had just about faded and, by then, her level-headed side was fighting to reassert itself. She looked at her toes and began to regret the daring color choice.

It didn’t take long for her to draw up a long list of reasons not to go to Alexander’s Tavern. At the top of that list was the obvious danger. She was definitely not big on taking risks. “He could be an axe-wielding maniac, Amelia,” she berated herself. The idea of meeting a total strange for untold adventures held the fanciful part of her in a thrall. But the sensible part of her was beginning to win out again, like it almost always did.

Still naked, Lia dared herself to walk over to the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She didn’t like staring at her own imperfect form. This was why she often covered herself in layers of oversized clothing. She surveyed her appearance and acknowledged yet again that she wasn’t drop dead gorgeous, certainly not in the way Cheryl was. But she wasn’t all that bad, she supposed.

She had inherited her slight build, jet black hair, pert little nose, and pale yellow coloring from her mother’s side. Generations of interracial marriages had done little to dilute China out of the Chans’ genes; as a result, they looked more Chinese than they really were. However, her most striking features, her heavy-lashed doe eyes and reasonably ample bosom, came from her father’s side. Family lore had it that the Nakpils descended from the rather unholy union between a Spanish friar and a local farm lass from the old country. She was lucky, her aunts often told her, that she had only partially inherited the Nakpils’ thick thighs and not their heavy Spanish hips and overly rounded behind. Partial legacy or not, she always thought her somewhat fleshy thighs was at odds with her slim frame. She also felt they made her bottom half look even more stumpy than it really was.

“Submit to me,” her ad read. But would Bob really? Would anyone? She sighed and stared at the disproportionate wisp of girl, not quite 5’2 in height, who gazed back at her. Who would ever submit to her?

“No one, that’s who,” she whispered. It was decided then … she would pass up on her rendezvous with Bob.

No sooner had she come to this decision when the phone rang yet again. Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Bob? One glance at the caller ID revealed a familiar number: Mama’s. For some inexplicable reason, she was crestfallen.

Mrs. Nakpil’s litany began even before the receiver reached her daughter’s ear. Apparently there were nephews and nieces to tutor, elderly aunts to shop for, neighbors to entertain, and an attic full of old junk to clear.

“Be here in half an hour, Amelia,” Mama demanded.

Instead of quickly agreeing, as was her wont, Lia found herself saying something she had never had the nerve to say before.

“No, Mama, I can’t.”

Then, without so much as an explanation, she hung up and disabled the answering machine.

Within seconds, Mama called again. And again. And again. But Lia ignored the shrill and incessant ringing.

She was too busy painting her fingernails crimson.

For Bob.

 

[ChinitaMorena]

Lia's flighty side waged a day-long battle with her logic and reason. She had to chuckle as she envisioned having a little Lia Angel on one shoulder nagging her to stay home and a little Lia Devil on the other urging her to keep her date.

The rest of the day was a nervous blur. She did anything and everything to keep from thinking about Bob. She rearranged furniture, folded, refolded and re-refolded laundry, and even watched television while baking a cake. Or two. Well, three, really.

And all day long she refused to pick up the phone. At one point, her mother, no doubt more annoyed than worried by Amelia's sudden rebellion, had driven up to her house. The spirited older woman banged on the door, peered through the windows and raised such an unholy ruckus. But Lia just covered her ears, crouched behind a shelf and pretended not to be home.

At half past five, she stood in the front hall with car keys in hand. "Well, I guess I'm going then," she sighed. By then the little angel on her shoulder had forged an uneasy, tenuous truce with the little devil. All three of them, Lia and her dueling. wrestling sides, had agreed that she would go just for the sake of going. Just to look. Just to appease her curiosity.

She surveyed her appearance in her full length mirror. She looked like a librarian, she mused, from her tight, high ponytail down to her crisp white long-sleeved shirt and below-the-knee-length black linen skirt. She completed her outfit by donning her wire-rimmed glasses, the thick lenses of which magnified her already prominent doe eyes.

The devil on her shoulder must have knocked the angel unconscious, that was the only explanation Lia would be able to offer herself on hindsight. Because instead of slipping into a pair of sensible shoes, Lia reached for her lone pair of Jimmy Choos, a dangerously high and strappy pair in black and silver that showed off her crimson toenails. Cheryl had given them to her last Christmas and she had never put them on before, not even to try on. But now she was pleasantly surprised by how well they fit. By how much taller she seemed. And by how much more in charge she felt.

With a smile, she slid behind the wheel of her tiny blue car and embarked on what should have been a five-minute drive to Alexander's Tavern. But in her giddiness and haste, Lia took a wrong turn along the way. In near panic, she eventually regained her bearings, sped her way to the tavern and got there nearly ten minutes late.

A bit frazzled, Lia entered the dark tavern and perched herself atop a stool in the far end of the bar. She had only been to Alexander’s Tavern twice, both times to provide Cheryl with an escape clause should her blind date turn out to be a sleazebucket. That was how she knew she’d have a good view of Bob’s booth from there.

She ordered a vodka straight up, something she wasn’t even certain existed but was almost positive she had heard of on television. The bartender handed her a glass and she promptly downed the contents in one gulp, setting the glass a bit down a tad too hard with a grimace painted on her face.

When her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she nervously cast her gaze to the left corner booth.

Her heart began to hammer in her chest … but only after it had missed a good many beats.

He was there! Bob was there!

He looked distinguished and powerful. And yet he was willing to submit. To her.

She could feel the voice of reason telling her to run back to her car and call it a day. But the little devil shushed the angel by ordering another vodka. Lia finished it off again in one big gulp, rendering the little angel on her shoulder unconscious once more.

Emboldened by the heat of the drink coursing down her throat and the flash of red from her painted fingernails, Lia strode towards Bob before she even realized she was doing so.

She slid into the booth and flashed a very quick smile at the man. Then she had to bite her inner cheeks and lower lip to keep her chin from shaking.

“Hello, Bob,” she said breathlessly in what she could only hope would sound like a husky, come-hither whisper.

 

[OnHarry]

Drew’s anxiety was diminished, she wasn’t there, of that he was certain, so finish the ale and go home, maybe pick up a pizza on the way and submit to a bottle of Montelpulciano D’Bruzzo and watch a film, maybe golf tomorrow, there were always a few guys around the country club looking for a player on Sunday mornings.

He was almost ready to get up when he saw her approaching, he watched her as if he was in a trance, she was beautiful in his eyes, somewhat petite, which was new, as his wife was nearly his own height and scared the hell out of male co-workers who crossed her path. This young lady was oriental he figured though he thought perhaps with some other ingredient in the mix, but still beautiful. Her nail polish was striking, a bright red that always seemed to grab his attention when he saw it on anyone. It occurred to him that his administrative assistant Kristie never wore anything that bold.

It also occurred to him now that he was sure that the owner of the ad was not coming that this young lady would be very desirable, pity she was not the person he was waiting for, no doubt she was headed for the washroom nearby. However he was surprised when she sat down opposite him in the booth. He was suddenly overcome by what thought must be a panic attack. Was this the girl the lady or whatever, what did he do now.

Always in charge, always in command of his surroundings and the people therein, he was at a loss now, he had said he would submit to her, she was not what he had expected and he was totally unnerved by her.

She smiled a bit when she sat down, and said, “Hello, Bob.”

He was even more unsettled now, was she thinking he was someone else, how did he respond without sounding like an idiot, if she was not the one she would doubtless call for a bouncer, and have him tossed out on his ear. What if she was the one though, god she was beautiful he had never known anyone even remotely Asian intimately, and yet here she was.

His words fell all over themselves attempting to escape his mouth, “ahh … I think your mistaken, ahhh miss,um I um am not sure who you are looking for, er my name is ahh…………………….”

Her face seemed to harden somewhat and she said curtly, “BOB” then she added a second later, “now”

He stared at her not speaking and then the words from the ad came back to him, ‘submit to me.’

Slowly almost imperceptibly at first he nodded, and swallowed hard. She would not have to be a detective to see the state he was in. He thought to speak as she just stared at him waiting he figured for him to say something.

Drew’s mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton batten, it dried up, and he could not speak, what should he do, how should he react, certainly not like some immature school kid, on his first date with the head cheerleader. The only thing he could think of to say was “ umm can I get you a drink?”

Her eyes seemed to harden even more and looking at him she said firmly and without any emotion or inflection, “vodka straight up”

Drew nodded and thinking maybe he could escape that stare for a brief time, he stood, and after again nodding slightly to her, went to the bar. He was aware that he could beat a retreat right now, she would maybe be pissed or upset but she would not know who he was or where he lived. He did not though; instead he went to the bar and ordered her drink and ale for himself.

All the time he was walking to the bar, ordering the drinks, and waiting for them, he kept saying to himself like a mantra, “submit to her, submit to her.”

After the bartender gave him the drinks and he paid for them, he turned to look at her again, wondering if she had watched him go or return. She did not, she stared straight ahead, as if disinterested, something that seemed to heighten his nervousness, but it gave him a chance to see her unobserved,……….. he hoped. Her hair dark and silky looking, was fairly long now he could see her ponytail, she was indeed petite, but he noted with some interest her breasts seemed quite full despite her smallish frame.

“Submit,……to her?” then as he walked back slowly he thought yes to her she was perfect, he would, he had to. Then it came to him, just what would that entail and looking at her he suddenly felt one of his involuntary uprisings starting. He quickly returned and put her drink down in front of her, setting his own down a bit hastily which spilled some of the foam from the top of his ale, onto the plateau of the table. He slid into the booth as quickly as possible hoping that his discomfort was not obvious before he managed to hide himself opposite her.

Drew started to swallow again, wondering what to say, she held the vodka in her hand and stared at him, this was the way you dominate people, you force them to make the next move make them speak and sound stupid, he knew that because he had used the tactic often enough though he had never been on the receiving end. Until now that is.

It seemed obvious to him she was used to being in charge and no doubt got off on it. So why was he, a person of his position so ill at ease now? Why was this diminutive lady so off putting, why was she getting him so off balance?

Drew did not know what to do, and that was doubtless why he was no nervous. For the first time in his adult life he admitted to be inferior, to be controlled, he resolved to submit to the control and direction of someone else. For whatever reason it was exciting, he could not have said why, but he knew that right now if he had to stand up, say if the place caught on fire, he would be very embarrassed by the now obvious, almost painful erection he had, which was poorly contained by his somewhat loose boxer briefs.

What to do, what to do, he was almost squirming now, and still she said nothing just staring at him, in her obvious but irresistible power play.

Finally he had to speak, but when he did his words almost croaked out, sounding anything but confidant, like his mouth was full of some grit, he said, “ Ahh I don’t know your name, but I guess that, uhmm you tell me what it is we do next, as I am on somewhat shaky ground here.” God he sounded like an idiot, and still she said nothing, seeming to him to enjoy his discomfort.

She slowly, deliberately moved the glass to her mouth, her lips were rather nice, and sipped the drink, still staring at him and then after having sipped it again, placed the glass down on the table. Her eyes watching him he almost felt like he was naked, in front of that stare, and in a sense he was, his nervousness, something he was ill equipped to deal with being so at odds with his normal persona, was there to be seen, his very being laid bare before her. Emotionally he was naked before her.