The Perfect Dom - Shannon West Page 0,2
Kind of.
In my mind I knew that if Tori could do it, then so could I, and maybe working next to her was like a sign that my new life was meant to be. She and I had become really good friends, so I could finally have some of my most burning questions answered. It had taken me a while to work up the courage to express an interest in learning about the lifestyle to Tori, but maybe there was no time like the present. I cleared my throat and brought the subject up to her.
“About this idea of building up my confidence...”
“Yes?”
“I was thinking about that club you go to. Maybe I should go with you this weekend and check it out. I've sort of been interested in it for a while now.”
She glanced up at me and looked me up and down. “You have?”
“Yes. You know how I asked you about those websites?”
“Yes, but there’s a big difference in watching a little kinky porn and actually going to a BDSM club, Jordy.”
“I know and I’m ready, Tori. I really want this.”
“Really?”
“Why do you keep saying that? Yes, really. I want to change things up in my life, and I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines waiting for something to happen. I have to make it happen.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve been telling you for months now.”
“I listened. And I’m ready. I want to go to your club and learn about the lifestyle.”
She smiled at me and shrugged. “Okay, why not? You know, I can totally see you as a sub.”
I drew back, offended, and shook my head firmly. “A sub? No. I’d be a Dom. I mean, I am a Dom.”
“Oh. Okaaayyy,” she said, drawing out the word and giving me a nervous little smile, but I didn't think her heart was in it. “Sure. My bad. Whatever you say.”
Right after that, a client of her boss’s came in and she went back to her desk, but I was more excited than I’d been in a long time about the idea of actually going with her to be trained as a Dom instead of just daydreaming about it.
When most weekends finally rolled around, I was always more than ready for a break, even though it was often a bit of a double-edged sword. I seemed to be stuck in the same old rut, which wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been happy there. But I had a strong suspicion I was missing out. That the best years of my life were passing me by while I was sleeping till noon and then puttering around the house cleaning my apartment and reading novels.
My friends still occasionally pestered me to go out with them and have mandatory fun on weekends. If I did go with them, I was usually miserable and wished I'd just stayed home. Yet if I didn't, I wound up feeling guilty for not doing the fun, adventurous things they were doing, like hiking up some mountain trail or running in 5K marathons or even going in a kayak or a tube down the river.
If you grew up in Atlanta like I did, they called that going-down-the river-thing “shooting the Hooch,” because of the Chattahoochee River that ran through the city. It was pretty much a rite of passage for my friends. I tried it once when I was still in college and wound up at the end of the day drunk, pruney and sunburned. I missed the exit point where my friends were waiting impatiently for me and lost a shoe as I got out of the water, so I had to limp back almost a mile to the car. It was not an experience I ever cared to repeat.
I’m not really an outdoors type. Or an adventurous or athletic type. I’m not a clubbing type, either, for that matter. In fact, my ex, Tim, used to say I didn't have a type, and that when I died, I should will my brain to science to see if someone could figure out exactly what I wanted in life, because he'd never been able to find out.
He really wasn't a very nice person, as it turned out.
Up until a year ago, I’d been in a three-year long relationship with him and living in his condo in the suburbs. Then I’d come home early from an out-of-town conference I'd accompanied my boss to and found him piled up with another guy in our bed. On my 1800 thread