BRIAN’S POV
Your conversation with Justin before he fell asleep the night before has gotten you thinking about your limits, his limits, and how to best understand his motivations in this facet of your relationship. You have plans for him today; it won’t be like any other Sunday afternoon he’s experienced. (You purposely get him a little buzzed just to take the edge off.) The clerk at the leather store recognizes you while helping another customer. He holds up a finger to signal just a minute, and disappears into the back once he can get free. “Mr. Kinney, would you like to inspect it, make sure it’s exactly what you wanted?” he asks, returning and handing you a six inch square black velvet box. You open the lid and examine what’s inside, and it’s perfect. You hand him your gold American Express card and tell him to run it. “This and everything for your appointment this afternoon?” he wants to know. You nod, and he hands you a receipt to sign. The total is over eleven thousand dollars.
When you return to the car to get Justin, you can tell he’s nervous, but when you extend your hand to help him out, he accepts it and doesn’t let go. “Brian, what’s going on?” he asks you. “I think I have a right to know.”
“You do, and you will in about five minutes.” You squeeze his hand and smile at him as you approach the door to the leather store again. He loves the smell of leather; he’ll like this. (You hope.)
“Mr. Kinney,” the clerk acknowledges, “Everything is ready.” You walk Justin to the back of the store and open a door that appears to go to a stockroom, but instead you’re both standing in a foyer painted black and at the top of a set of rickety wooden stairs that seems to descend into a basement. You step down two steps so you’re eye level with him, “Last night you said that you don’t know where your limits are, remember?”
“Yes.” His eyes shift back and forth eyeing the new environment.
“Well, today I’ve arranged for you—well, both of us—to take a tour through that headspace, to help you out a little.”
“A tour?”
“Yes, for a few hours. And, as usual, I need to know that you trust me.”
“I do,” he says, but you find it less than genuine. He looks more than a little freaked out, but you just keep going, “And that you remember your safe word.”
“Albatross.”
“Okay, then,” you say with a smile as you begin to go down the stairs. “You need to do what you’re told…regardless of who tells you.”
“Brian,” he says with a hint of objection in his voice.
“Starting now,” you say as you reach the bottom of the stairs and open another wooden door that opens into a lobby with a high-end marble-like tiled floor. The man behind the check in counter who’s dressed in black from head to toe greets you by name and then asks, “This is seventy-two?”
You nod, “Justin, put your hand up on the counter.” He does and you laugh a little, “Take your glove off.” Justin looks a little embarrassed, but does what you say, his eyes growing wider as the man who doesn’t even look at him takes the lid off an industrial Sharpie marker and writes ‘72’ on the back of his hand. When he’s done, he hands you an envelope, “Room number four is yours, Mr. Kinney. Both signatures are required.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy your afternoon.”