But I had other ways of showing someone I liked the way they looked now. “You clean up nice. It’s good to see you.”
“Ditto, and I’ve missed you.”
He lifted me into his truck, which is fucking huge. He’s a big guy, so it makes sense, but damn. “What kind of gas mileage do you get in this thing?”
“Better than you’d expect. Around 13 or 14 miles per gallon in the city if traffic isn’t bad, but it has a forty-eight gallon tank, so you don’t have to stop and fill up every other day.” He shrugged. “I have plenty of cash, so buying gas, groceries, and eating out doesn’t really have to be budgeted. I only budget the expenses that have to go through my bank account.”
“Because the cash is from illegal shit?”
“Mostly because it hasn’t been taxed.”
“Not the whole truth.”
He grinned and shrugged. That was all I was getting from him, but I couldn’t really blame him.
He asked how our derby season was going, and I ended up talking about myself the entire way there, but he kept asking questions and I couldn’t help it. I answered most everything, but I wished I knew what to ask him to find out what he’d been up to since I’d last seen him. He asked me about school, and I told him I was about to start interning with a security firm six hours a week.
“What will they have you doing?”
“I went a few times last semester. I guess a bunch of us are sent and then they decide who they want to bring in as an intern? Anyway, I got to spend some time in their control room, and I got to hear the lingo being used in action. It didn’t sound silly when they used it.”
I’d heard D taking to the control room, and he used that lingo, too. Roger that. Copy that. I didn’t mention it, though. “They also gave me images and had me play with them to try to finesse details out. I took a few classes to learn how to use computer graphics programs, specifically so I’d have that skill. They had their professionals do it too, and it was interesting to see what I could get from a picture and then read their report and see their final images.”
“I can work with images a little on my phone. Lighten or darken them, change the colors around so something pops. That’s the extent of my skills.”
“That can be a big deal, especially if you’re looking at a picture from a security cam. But yeah, there are better tricks, and I learned some of them just from reading this guy’s reports. I’m excited about getting to go back.”
“What does the company get for helping train you?”
“Once they trust me to do shit, six hours of free labor every week. Also, the ability to spend time with people and decide whether to offer them a job upon graduation. They can grab up new people they don’t have to pay an arm and a leg. Aaron says recruiting from the existing workforce, or hiring people as they leave the military, can get expensive.”
“Do they know you’ll be working for their competition?”
I grinned. “Aaron suggested it might be best if I don’t mention that.”
He chuckled. “He’s likely right.”
Words can’t describe how good our meal was. Every bite was an orgasm of flavor, which sounds a little silly, but I can’t think of another way to put it. So much taste in every mouthful. Our conversation was mostly casual, just talking about nothing in particular, but it flowed, and as always, there was so much we saw eye-to-eye on.
It wasn’t until we were waiting for dessert to be delivered that I decided to get serious.
“Sophia has a friend who’s a therapist. Or, who used to be one and isn’t exactly practicing anymore, but she still talks to…” I was going at this all wrong. “The point is, she identifies as a sexual submissive even though she’s a bad-ass. She’s worked with a lot of rescued sex slaves. Real ones, who were abducted from foster care as children and now they’re young adults who’ve been freed, but they’re royally fucked up. She says I exhibit many of the traits they do, and she’s talked to me about how to see myself as valuable outside of what I can do for someone sexually.”
“You’re talking about Kirsten?”
“You know her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve briefly met her when I’ve visited our Chattanooga chapter, and there aren’t many therapists rumored to be submissive behind closed doors who are bad-asses in their everyday life.”
“She and Sophia are good friends, and Sophia set it up for me to talk to her a few times. The point is, being a derby girl has helped me get past… I don’t know how to explain it. Female power sounds corny, but roller derby helped me find myself. I mean, my college classes have helped with my self-confidence, and my martial arts studies have obviously been a big part of finding my inner warrior. Becoming proficient with firearms has made me feel more powerful when I’m carrying, but there are too many places I have to leave it in the car, so I can’t use it as a crutch. Topping male submissives also flipped some switches inside me and helped me redefine who I am. It made me the person giving the orders instead of the person following them. Mentally, I need that. Possibly emotionally as well. Turns out it isn’t what I need sexually, and I guess I’m still working my head around that.”
“All because I came along and toppled your world?”
“Yeah, but Kirsten says it can be perfectly healthy for me to submit, and that what I’m going through is normal for someone with my background. For some ex-slaves, it can be healthy for them to find a Master or Top or Dom they love and respect, and who’ll take them over twenty-four/seven. Some end up discovering they prefer to Top, while others find it works for them to submit to a dominant sadist during sex without letting it bleed out into the rest of their lives. I’m pretty sure I fall into the latter category, but she’s been clear there’s no right or wrong way to feel as long as I’m true to my needs.”
I took a drink, and my hand shook enough the top of the wine had ripples. I’m certain he noticed, but he didn’t react as if he did. I put the glass down and kept going. “I want to direct the way my life goes, but I can’t pretend I don’t get turned on when I’m bossed around and manhandled and required to submit for sex.” I took a breath. “Able trained me to enjoy pain, and Kirsten says unless I want to spend years being reprogrammed, it’s fine to accept that this is what I need from a partner.”
Finally, he responded. “And you’ve discovered you can get this from anyone. It doesn’t have to be the biker with the misshapen face.”
Somehow, I’d had the impression he didn’t give a fuck about his face. Take him or leave him, but he didn’t have time or energy for people who couldn’t see him for who he is. I shook my head. “I love your face. It’s you. I see it as different, sure, but it isn’t a negative for me. I’m sorry if others have made you feel self-conscious about it.”
“I haven’t worried about it since I was a young teen. Before puberty. But in the past couple of weeks I’ve wondered if maybe I’d have been able to keep you if my face wasn’t fucked up. Human women don’t know I can hear them from across the room. I know how society sees me because I’m constantly hearing it. Usually, it doesn’t bug me, but...” He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.