The House of Pain (3 page)

I’m distracted all morning. I’m oddly uneasy, though I should be jubilant about my job offer.

I walk to the restaurant I’m supposed to meet Doug Patterson at. It isn’t far, and it’s still lovely and warm in Toronto, summer just easing into fall.

I recognise Doug, he’s already seated. He gets up when I walk in; shakes my hand.

“Sara, thanks for meeting me here at such short notice.” His voice is nice. Confident, but not arrogant. The voice of someone who has a very good idea who he is, what he wants, and is totally comfortable with it. He’s about 6ft tall; short dark hair; he’s good looking, but in a normal guy kind of way; and more importantly, no wedding ring.

Focus, Sara, I scold myself. He’s a Vice-President at my company. Not in my league.

“I’m in back-to-back meetings all day, I have a hard stop at 1.00pm,” he says. “Do you mind if we order right away? The waitress has promised to get the kitchen to hurry with the food.”

“No worries,” I mutter. I quickly order the lunch special of the day. Doug does the same. The waitress sets our drinks down, and leaves to put in the order.

“This is a bit of an awkward conversation,” Doug says, looking at me, once we are alone. “You see, I was in the audience last night at the House of Pain.”

I am in the act of taking a sip of my water. I stop, mid-sip. My mind goes blank. I am completely, utterly horrified.

I speak, and my voice is the merest whisper. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Blackmail you?” Doug looks a little astonished. “What on earth?”

Okay, maybe that first thought was a stupid one. I flush. I keep silent. I’m waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t generally need to blackmail women,” he says mildly. Now I’m mortified. He’s good looking and he’s a fancy corporate executive. I feel like an idiot.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for a sex partner, and judging by yesterday’s performance, we have a lot of interests in common. I was wondering if you were single, if you’d be interested in giving it a try?”

“What?” I gape at him.

He looks at me. He’s trying not to look annoyed. I’m unfazed. The entire thing is too bizarre. “Explain, please,” I say. “Give what a try? What do you want from me?”

He looks less annoyed in the face of my genuine confusion. He smiles. He’s got a really nice smile. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m not doing this well.”

“I’m looking for a partner that would be interested in doing some of the same kind of things you did at the House of Pain, but with sex being part of the package,” he says. “In privacy, with me, not in front of an audience.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” Clarity slowly emerges.

He nods. “It is a lot harder than you’d think to find someone who’s interested in the same sexual kinks as you are, especially if you want to stay clear of Internet dating.”

“So, I’d be your submissive?” I ask.

“I don’t like labels. But, for the purposes of this conversation, yes.” The waitress arrives with our food and we both stop talking as she sets the plates down.

I eat with my thoughts on his offer. I’m startled to realize I’m actually considering it. This is my chance to find out if this is what I want in a sexual relationship. And his comments about Internet dating are spot-on. I’ve dated online before, but I don’t think I’d ever go about trying to find someone to dominate me on the Internet. Too much potential for serious harm.

“Let me think about it,” I mutter.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Of course,” he says smoothly. We finish eating. He pays, waving off my attempts to reach for my wallet, and we head back to the office. He writes his cell phone number on the back of a business card and hands it to me. “Call me if you are interested.”

I ponder his offer all week.

***

In the end, two things make me call him.

The first reason is that I’ve signed my offer letter and I’ve given work my two weeks of notice. I would have never called Doug otherwise; that’s just too complicated. But we will not work in the same company in two weeks.

The second reason is cruder. I come back home late Saturday night, and I masturbate to the thought of Doug’s eyes on me as John whips me. As my powerful, shuddering orgasm dies down, I resolve to call him. Just one time, to see what it’s all about.

I call him Sunday mid-morning.

***

“Doug?” I ask hesitantly, as his voice says hello. “It’s Sara White. Umm, we had lunch last week?”

“I know who you are, Sara.” His voice is amused. I flush.

I’ve rehearsed what I’m going to say to him a couple of times, but now, in the moment, my brain goes completely blank. “Umm, I’d like to discuss your offer,” I finally blurt out.

“Are you busy today?” he asks.

“No, not really.” The only thing I have to do today is clean my apartment.

“Ok, why don’t you come over to my place? We’ll discuss, and then, if all goes well in our negotiations, we can get going right away.”

Whoa. Too fast. Entirely too fast. “Umm. Maybe. Ok. Where do you live?” I sound like a babbling idiot. I take down his address, tell him I’ll meet him at 1.00pm, and hang up.

Yikes. I look down at his address. We live in two very different worlds, Doug and I. His address indicates he lives in Rosedale, one of Toronto’s Old Money neighborhoods. I, on the other hand, live in rough-and-tumble Parkdale, where the rents are low, but the neighborhood is definitely, well, colourful.

I get ready quickly, reaching for my prettiest bra and underwear. I make a face as I look at myself. I confess that I’m intimidated. Doug’s miles out of my league, and my simple black panties and bra don’t lend me a ton of confidence. Still, they fit well, the bra has that magic ability to lift my breasts just enough to look make them look utterly touchable. Over the bra and panties, I pull on a simple black dress – another personal favorite – it shows the perfect amount of cleavage and leg, but is still daytime appropriate.

I grab my purse and head out. Summertime in Toronto means the transit system is near-constantly under construction, and delays are inevitable. I don’t want to be late.

Just before I leave, I make a quick call to my friend Amanda.

“Hey,” I greet her. “I just need to tell you I’m going on a date, okay?” I give her Doug’s name, address and phone number. Just in case.

“Internet date?” she asks.

“Someone who works with me but I don’t know him at all.” I don’t reveal more than that; I’ve told none of my friends about the House of Pain.

“And you are going to his house?” I sense the disapproval in her voice.

“He seems fine, I’m just being cautious,” I mumble. And that’s the entire truth. Doug seems fine, normal; but he also wants to tie me up and beat me. It seems wise to let someone know my whereabouts.

“Well, have fun,” she says, a certain amount of resignation in her voice. “I want to know all about the date next week, okay?” Amanda and I are in the same French class; I’ll see her tomorrow evening.

***

It takes an insane amount of time to get to Doug’s. I read on the streetcar and try not to fidget in nervousness. My emotions are a strange mix of anticipation and fear. I read an entire page of my book, realize I don’t have any idea what it said, and give up the reading as a lost cause.

Instead, I focus on the fear. I like being spanked, it isn’t the pain I’m afraid of.

No, I’m afraid of the entanglement. Doing a show at the House of Pain is easy. I show up, do a show and go home. It puts my deep craving for pain and submission into a nice, tidy box. The rest of my life proceeds, unaffected. But having sex with Doug has all the potential of getting messy.

I make a silent resolution. I’m going to do my best to keep Doug in that nice, tidy box. I’m about to start a new job in a couple of weeks. I’d like to move. I have hobbies and interests that keep me busy. I don’t need this to become complicated.

***

I find my way to Doug’s place. It’s a nice house. Not too large, beautiful landscaped garden out front, a small front porch with an armchair on it. I’m quaking with nerves. I walk up, ring the doorbell.

A dog starts barking inside the house. “Shut up, Alia,” Doug’s voice yells out. There’s a certain wry resignation to it. The door opens, I’m nearly bowled over by the golden retriever. She’s friendly; her tail wagging. Doug has his hands on her collar, trying to hold her back. My lips twitch. This is very different from the cool, controlled executive who had lunch with me the other day.

“Come on in, Sara,” Doug gestures, still trying to keep Alia down. She’s threatening to bowl me over. I start to laugh, helplessly. Doug laughs with me.

“Sorry, she’s a handful, and I indulge her shamelessly,” he says, looking at Alia ruefully. “Alia, down.”

Alia finally listens, she settles down, tail wagging, in the hallway. I’m still laughing. I like this version of Doug much better. Doug follows me into the living room.

I look around. Not what I would have expected. His house is warm and comfortable. The leather couches are clearly chosen for comfort; throws are scattered about on them. There’s a lot of warm tones; reds and oranges mixed in with the browns of the leather. The house looks lived-in. I settle myself on an armchair in one corner, perched on the tip of the chair.

“Want a drink?” Doug asks me. “I have beer and wine, coffee and tea?”

“Just water, please,” I say. Doug nods, disappears into the kitchen. When he comes out, he’s holding my water in one hand, a beer in another. He hands me my water, sprawls on a couch opposite me.

Today, he’s dressed casually. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and faded shorts. His hair is damp; he smells faintly of soap and aftershave. He looks good enough to eat. 

“Have you eaten lunch?” he asks politely. “Pizza should be here any instant.”

“Pizza sounds great,” I say. I realize I’m starving. Breakfast was a long time ago, and in any case, I was too busy rehearsing what I was going to say to him to actually eat.

“What did you want to discuss?” he prompts. Ah. We get to the topic at hand.

“Everything,” I say. “I’ve only done a couple of shows at the House of Pain. Before that, I’d never been spanked. I’m totally new to all of this.” I’ve decided to just be honest.

He nods. I notice he’s not entirely too comfortable either. His grip on his beer bottle is tight. I relax slightly. It’s good that he’s nervous; it makes him more human.

“It’s a bit strange to me too,” he says, his eyes on me. He takes a sip of his beer. “Approaching you was a total impulse. But, like I said, it is hard trying to find a partner who is interested in the same kinks as you.”

“What do you want from me?” I ask.

“I’d like to tie you up, spank you and have sex with you.” He doesn’t mince his words.

“Once?” I ask.

“Well, let’s see how it goes,” he says. “You might hate it; I might hate it; the chemistry might just not be there.”

“I’ve never done this before.” There. I’ve said it.

“You’ve never had sex before?” He looks obviously surprised.

“No, I’ve never had tied-up sex before. I don’t know how submissive I am.”

The doorbell interrupts whatever Doug was going to say, setting Alia off again. Doug grabs Alia, opens the door. “Hang on,” he says to the pizza guy, trying to restrain Alia. “Come on, Alia, cut it out. Sara, can you grab the pizza?”

I bite back my smile. He clearly adores Alia. I grab the pizza from the guy as Doug wrestles with Alia, finally shoving her out of the back door. He comes back and pays the pizza guy.

“Pizza?” he asks me.

“Yes please,” I say. Our conversation was interrupted at the most inopportune time. I want to know what he’s thinking.

He takes the pizza from me, gestures for me to follow him. We go to the kitchen and I gasp. His kitchen is beautiful, light and airy; it is L-shaped, and opens out to the backyard. Alia is in the backyard, basking in the sunlight.

He grabs plates, opens the box. We help ourselves to slices, the food momentarily pausing the conversation.

“Did you like getting whipped at the House of Pain?” His words pull me back to our conversation.

“Yes.”

“Did you like being tied up?”

“Yes,” I whisper again.

“So, what concerns you?” There’s no impatience in his voice. He’s trying to understand.

“I don’t like the idea of being obedient, submissive.”

“Are you submissive in bed?” he asks bluntly.

I flush. “Sometimes. But I’ve always had a choice; I don’t have to be submissive.” I’m explaining myself badly. I think I’m afraid I’ll lose my ability to choose. That my submission will not be a choice I make, but the expected behaviour from me.

Doug listens as I try to explain this. Finally, he raises a hand and interrupts me.

“As I see it,” he says, “you are trying to run before you can walk. These things, everything you are worried about – the nature of submission, the boundaries of the submission, they are complicated things that every couple negotiates over time.” He takes a sip of his beer, eyes me and continues. “Right now, I think we should be more concerned about the hard rules – things you have no interest in doing in bed, things you definitely want to do, that kind of thing.”

He’s right. Besides, as he said, this can be a one-time thing.

“No blood,” I say. “No permanent damage. No caging.”

“Ok.” We quickly agree on the basics; set me up with a safeword. Red.

“I really have only one rule, Sara,” Doug says. “One that applies to both of us, really. Open, honest communication. If something isn’t fun, say so. I’m pretty sure that we can find enough things that we will both enjoy.”

“Ok,” I say, softly. I am once again a bundle of nerves. I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this.

He senses my nervousness. “Sara, it’ll be fine, I’m not a jerk,” he says wryly. “Look, do you want to do this some other time?”

“No.” I don’t think I’d have the courage to go through this again. Besides, I broke up with Colin because of this dark chasm in me. This is my opportunity to explore it a little bit.

“Can I get a glass of wine?” I ask him.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Liquid courage?” he asks with some amusement. “Red or white?”

“Whatever’s easier,” I say. Doug opens the refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of white wine and pours me a glass. I take a sip. It is light and refreshing; a perfect summer wine. I take another sip.

“Let’s go back to the living room,” he says.