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I blinked at him a few times before his words sunk in.
“You met Jerry there?”
“Kind of. I met Jerry when I went to a Munch. Are you familiar with those?”
“Yeah, I think so. Those are the parties that some clubs have to gauge interest from new members, right?”
“Yes. I was interested, so I dropped by. Jerry was there…” He winked at me. “And the rest is history. We’ve been together for almost two years now.”
“Wow, that’s great. So, you’re a Little?”
“No,” he said, smiling at me gently. “Jerry is.”
“He…what?”
“I can see I’ve surprised you. It’s a fairly common kink, you know. Though I admit, Jerry doesn’t fit the stereotype. We even have conventions now, like CAPcon and Teddy Con.”
“Conventions? I had no idea.”
“It’s a lifestyle for some people. Others just roleplay occasionally. Although a lot of people don’t like that term.”
“How does a person…how do they get started in something like that? You know, if they were interested?”
He put down the glass he was polishing and smiled again—he had a really comforting smile. “Are you interested?”
“I-I don’t know,” I said softly. “I don’t think I would be.”
“Well, you never know until you try.”
I shook my head sadly and started to turn away. “Cruz…”
“Yes?”
“You should come upstairs sometime—as my guest. If you think there could be an interest. Jerry wouldn’t mind at all, I’m sure. It’s very easy-going, you know. No one judges anyone else. If you think you might like to look around, that is.”
“Oh, thanks, but that’s not really…I don’t think so. Thanks though.”
He just smiled and picked up another glass to polish, and I fled to the other end of the bar.
Everything went back to normal, more or less, and though I was a little freaked out about the fact that I had managed to land in the same club as the one Michael was part owner of. I told myself that little interlude in Orlando a year and a half ago, wonderful as it had been, was only one measly night out of my life—one night that I was still honestly shocked a man like Michael had even remembered. After all, he was so handsome, successful and rich that I was not only not in his league, but I wasn’t even playing in the same ballpark.
Imagine my surprise then when he showed back up at the club a few evenings later dressed in leathers. He was just wearing black leather pants and a black shirt and boots, and nothing extreme or special, but he made it look good just the same. He came in and sat at a table for a while with a few other Doms, all of whom seemed to know each other pretty well—not that I was watching them or anything.
The private rooms at the back were busy, and the corridor leading back to them was near the bar. Because I was watching them, I saw a sub that I knew kneel down beside Michael’s chair. He put his hand on the boy’s head and spoke to him, smiling down at him. Jealousy flew over me so hot and unexpectedly that I dropped a bar glass. I got busy for a while then, cleaning up my mess, and the next thing I knew I saw Michael moving in the direction of the private rooms, the sub following along behind him. Michael looked neither to the right nor the left as he strode purposefully to the back rooms, and the boy with him looked excited and eager.
The sub was on the small side, with blond hair and wide eyes that were so blue they had to be contacts. I felt the lurch of jealousy in my chest again as they passed me, and tightened my lips, determined not to betray how I felt by the expression on my face. You know, just in case he glanced my way. Which, by the way, he did not.
Tommy was working that night and he noticed me looking though, and he smirked. “The subs all love it when Michael stops by. He doesn’t have a regular one—it’s someone new every time. He’s well known for his flogging techniques. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so good looking.”
We were busy, and Tommy was called to the other end of the bar then, and I was glad. I didn’t want to discuss Michael Bradley and his “techniques.” In fact, I wanted to forget all about Michael in that back room with his flogger and his pretty sub. None of my business, and I was working, filling one order after another, mopping up spills, grabbing glasses for refills and processing credit cards and cash. I didn’t have time to worry about him.
When things finally began to settle down, I saw that Tommy had started flairing a little at his end of the bar. We had slowed down a bit, so I joined in, soon falling into a rhythm, enjoying the well-practiced moves that seemed like second nature to me now. We began to attract a small crowd of observers who cheered us on, laughing and clapping and calling out drink orders. One man, in particular, sat on his stool and watched my every move appreciatively. When it finally came time for my break, I grabbed a soda and made my way to a table at the back of the room. I wasn’t surprised when the man who’d been watching me slipped off his stool and followed me over.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice silky smooth. He was well built, a little taller than me, and obviously he worked out a lot. He was older too, maybe pushing fifty, and he had dirty blond hair cut really high and tight and a little scruff on his cheeks that looked nice. He was a handsome guy, and obviously a Dom. By now I’d gotten pretty good at figuring out who was who, and he was definitely giving me that vibe.
“Got one, thanks,” I told him, waggling my can at him.
“Can I at least sit down with you?”
