I pop a ring on my finger before meetings with some of the lecherous types.”
“Good. Please don’t ever behave that way.”
“All right, older brother.”
After dropping Marilyn off, I contemplate swinging by Rachel’s to make sure she got home OK, but I realize this might be perceived as too protective, too soon. I'll send her an e-mail when I get home.
It’s been nearly a year since my last attempt at a relationship and Marilyn is thrilled. She could not stop talking about it at dinner. I’m happy, too, but also have my own reservations because I know what I’m like with women and I’m not sure Rachel will approve.
Marilyn doesn’t think it will be a problem.
My sister is the only one in my family who knows my true career. She found out by accident when she stopped by my house during one of my sessions. I always take the precaution of putting a ‘With a client, please do not disturb’ sign on my front door, but Marilyn ignored that when she heard strange sounds coming from inside. She called my cell phone, then my house phone, before finally knocking on the door with all her might.
I sat her down and explained what I was doing with my client. While it took Marilyn a long time to understand, she eventually came around. She accepts my business as my business and we leave it at that. And now, thank goodness, I have someone I can talk to about my relationships.
“So you spank them, even when you date them?” she’d asked, somewhat incredulously.
“Yep. When they need it.”
She snorted but when she saw my expression was serious she stopped laughing. “Yeah. Um. I’m sure some women like that kind of thing.”
Since that conversation, my little sister has done some of her own research among her friends and has concluded that I’m actually not that abnormal. “Some of them love getting spanked, David!” she’d said. “They can’t get enough of it! Unbelievable, I never would’ve thought…”
So, she’s concluded that Rachel will not mind my lifestyle choices. I have yet to figure that out.
The rest of my family thinks I do ‘life-coaching’, which in a sense is kind of accurate. Kind of.
The long drive home from Marilyn’s apartment is good for me. I love driving. It gives me a chance to think, to relax. Nothing but me, my tunes, and the road in front of me.
At home I feed Sparky and then make a beeline to my computer.
Rachel:
Did you get home all right?
David
She doesn’t respond immediately. That’s fine. I have seven e-mails from clients and I go through them one by one.
I make room for one woman’s request for an emergency session tomorrow, but I ask her to come by early and I warn her that I have company arriving in the afternoon. I want to spend my time preparing for Rachel. But, I try my best to accommodate the urgent needs of my clients. Aria, like Rachel, just needs a firm hand on occasion. I offer a half-hour session in place of our normal hour, as I want to be sure to have time to prepare for my date.
Finally, just when I’m ready to close up and go to bed, Rachel e-mails back.
David,
I did. Thank you for asking. Even called a cab for Mr. Intoxicated. See you tomorrow.
Rachel
I smile. This is good news. And, even better, she’s responsible.
The next morning, Aria, my client, arrives forlorn and in obvious need.
“Come on in,” I say warmly as I hold the door open for her.
She is wearing sweatpants and a tight violet t-shirt that hugs her strong, thin frame. Her glasses do nothing to hide the sadness in her eyes, and her brown hair looks as though it hasn’t been combed in days.
“Having a bad week?” I ask as I lead her to the kitchen. I pour her a glass of milk—her favorite—and sit down with her.
“More than a bad week. Paul broke up with me. My boss hates me. It’s just too fucking much sometimes.”
“Shh, Aria. Language,” I remind her gently. I don’t have a problem with swearing, but she's confessed to me that she
“Good. Please don’t ever behave that way.”
“All right, older brother.”
After dropping Marilyn off, I contemplate swinging by Rachel’s to make sure she got home OK, but I realize this might be perceived as too protective, too soon. I'll send her an e-mail when I get home.
It’s been nearly a year since my last attempt at a relationship and Marilyn is thrilled. She could not stop talking about it at dinner. I’m happy, too, but also have my own reservations because I know what I’m like with women and I’m not sure Rachel will approve.
Marilyn doesn’t think it will be a problem.
My sister is the only one in my family who knows my true career. She found out by accident when she stopped by my house during one of my sessions. I always take the precaution of putting a ‘With a client, please do not disturb’ sign on my front door, but Marilyn ignored that when she heard strange sounds coming from inside. She called my cell phone, then my house phone, before finally knocking on the door with all her might.
I sat her down and explained what I was doing with my client. While it took Marilyn a long time to understand, she eventually came around. She accepts my business as my business and we leave it at that. And now, thank goodness, I have someone I can talk to about my relationships.
“So you spank them, even when you date them?” she’d asked, somewhat incredulously.
“Yep. When they need it.”
She snorted but when she saw my expression was serious she stopped laughing. “Yeah. Um. I’m sure some women like that kind of thing.”
Since that conversation, my little sister has done some of her own research among her friends and has concluded that I’m actually not that abnormal. “Some of them love getting spanked, David!” she’d said. “They can’t get enough of it! Unbelievable, I never would’ve thought…”
So, she’s concluded that Rachel will not mind my lifestyle choices. I have yet to figure that out.
The rest of my family thinks I do ‘life-coaching’, which in a sense is kind of accurate. Kind of.
The long drive home from Marilyn’s apartment is good for me. I love driving. It gives me a chance to think, to relax. Nothing but me, my tunes, and the road in front of me.
At home I feed Sparky and then make a beeline to my computer.
Rachel:
Did you get home all right?
David
She doesn’t respond immediately. That’s fine. I have seven e-mails from clients and I go through them one by one.
I make room for one woman’s request for an emergency session tomorrow, but I ask her to come by early and I warn her that I have company arriving in the afternoon. I want to spend my time preparing for Rachel. But, I try my best to accommodate the urgent needs of my clients. Aria, like Rachel, just needs a firm hand on occasion. I offer a half-hour session in place of our normal hour, as I want to be sure to have time to prepare for my date.
Finally, just when I’m ready to close up and go to bed, Rachel e-mails back.
David,
I did. Thank you for asking. Even called a cab for Mr. Intoxicated. See you tomorrow.
Rachel
I smile. This is good news. And, even better, she’s responsible.
The next morning, Aria, my client, arrives forlorn and in obvious need.
“Come on in,” I say warmly as I hold the door open for her.
She is wearing sweatpants and a tight violet t-shirt that hugs her strong, thin frame. Her glasses do nothing to hide the sadness in her eyes, and her brown hair looks as though it hasn’t been combed in days.
“Having a bad week?” I ask as I lead her to the kitchen. I pour her a glass of milk—her favorite—and sit down with her.
“More than a bad week. Paul broke up with me. My boss hates me. It’s just too fucking much sometimes.”
“Shh, Aria. Language,” I remind her gently. I don’t have a problem with swearing, but she's confessed to me that she
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