BRIAN’S POV

You always look back on that night fondly – the night Justin took you out on a date after that day in the dungeon. The steak house you went to played the most obnoxious country music at decibels that did more harm to both of you than the dungeon ever could. As a result, there wasn’t much conversation between you as you ate, just a lot of smiling and nodding. But afterwards, once you were back home again, you aimed for just the opposite, taking his hand after you both hung your coats and leading him upstairs to your study. The room is home to a soothing palette of earth tones including a soft, dark brown leather sofa. Earlier that day, you’d ventured into some new territory with him, and you wanted to find your way back there without the threat of whips and chains clattering in the background.

He takes off his shoes and sits sideways with his knees bent, his toes burrowed under your thighs. You turn on the television and locate the on demand listing of Bill Maher’s show from the night before. “May I have the blanket behind you?” he asks and you reach back, find the black throw and hand it to him. “Thanks,” he says, making sure the only thing sticking out of it is his head. It’s fucking freezing outside but it’s warm and cozy where you sit.

Neither of you had any interest in the first guest Maher had on, so you start to fast forward through it, but he stops you, a hand on your arm, and says, “Just mute it for a minute.” You do, turning toward him because he has a pensive look on his face, “I feel like I owe you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For today, for the whole week, for everything you did—just to please me.”

“Yeah…well, you bought dinner. I think we’re good.”

He laughs and disagrees with you, “Like there’s any fair comparison there.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you reiterate.

He surprises you when he continues, “I’m sorry about earlier…about…you know.. .feeling…weird.”

“The apology window closed at five p.m. I don’t want to hear that.”

“Well…then…I’ll just camp out front in a thermal sleeping bag until it reopens.”

“An Occupy movement. How original.”

He has no idea as you watch the rest of the show that the initial punishment you’d planned for him that day was far more painful and punitive. He doesn’t know that you abandoned it when you felt your connection to him filling with static. (Having a well-stocked dungeon makes those decisions much easier to conceal.) As Maher’s show ends, Justin taps you, “I want to watch Overtime.” You check the list, “It’s not up yet.” You turn off the TV and turn toward him, your hand on his knee, “I want to talk.”

Justin’s eyeballs look enormous, “You’re freaking me out. You never want to talk.”

“I am a high-order mammal, you know. I’m more than capable of having a conversation.”

“Duh, I know that. What do you want to talk about?”

You slide your hand under his blanket and wrap your hand around his thigh, “Well, first off, we sort of reached a milestone today.”

“What milestone?”

“Well, we broke something that came in our very first kinky tool kit.”

“That collar came in a kit?” (He seems appalled. You can take the boy out of the country club but never the other way around.)

“Yes, remember that cheap black bag that had the collar, a ball gag, hand cuffs, a blindfold, a leather paddle—“

“Which I hated. I like wood.”

“A more obvious statement has never been made,” you snark and he laughs, “It even came with one of little starter butt plugs!”

“Yes, if memory serves, you laughed at it and gave it to me.”

“I think it’s endearing that you’re so tight,” he says with a look on his face that makes it almost believable. (To this day, he doesn’t know that you hid that plug fearing that he might get some crazy idea in his head while you were sleeping or something.)

“Anyhoo,” you roll your eyes as you continue, “I think we should talk about where we are in this little adventure of ours. I’m wondering if it’s where you want to be.”

“I want to be across your lap.”

“Justin, I’m trying to be serious.”

“So am I…sort of…in a roundabout way, I guess.”

Sometimes you forget that the direct approach with Justin rarely works.