Page 33 of Baby Girl

“Being gagged in any fashion, wearing a leash, being humiliated?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I got turned on as I thought about him putting clamps on my nipples.

“Role play, piercing, marking, making videos?” he asked, leaning closer to me, smiling.

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes,” I responded, leaning toward him.

He extended his arms, palms up, toward me. I reached across the table, and placed my hands in his. He lightly squeezed my hands. I loved the size of his hands, the shape of them, and how he held my hands in his. Firm, but not too firm. I watched as he held and massaged my hands.

“Threesomes, being electrocuted, and beatings?”

“Yes, depends, and you already said beatings, and I said yes,” I said, scowling a little at him over the electrocution question.

“I said bondage. I hadn’t said beatings. And electrocuting depends?” he asked.

“Well, fuck yes, it does. A little electricity sounds sexy. Actually being shocked would probably make me go into convulsions and pee,” I said, laughing.

“Well, we’ll call it a soft limit - or maybe a curiosity for now. Speaking of peeing…”

“Let’s just cut it short. I will make it easy. No animals, and no crapping on me or making me do anything with crap, that’s it,” I said, smiling proudly.

“Well, that’s easy, but you may not be thinking of everything,” he responded, smiling back at me.

“Cutting, marking permanently, like a tattoo or scar, piercing permanently, or temporarily, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, watersports,” he asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

“Yes to everything. But, everything involving other people, we’d have to discuss at length. I meant what I said. No animals or shit. Oh, and nothing illegal. Other than that, I want to be yours. I want to make you happy. But, I will tell you this, if you tattoo me, scar me up, and have all of your buddies fuck me, and then leave me, you will be the world’s biggest asshole. Ever,”

“I’m not saying I would want other people involved, I was trying to prove a point that you weren’t going to do everything…or well, that you weren’t willing to do everything. And I would never mistreat you like that, Kelli. I already told you that,” he said as he squeezed my hands.

“I would say if it didn’t involve a dog, horse, snake, or a pile of shit, I will do it. As long as it’s what you want. I want to make you happy. I want to make you happier than you have ever been, or ever thought you could be. What have other girls been willing to do?”

“I am not going to talk to you about other women I have been with, Kelli. But I will say this: they have not been as willing as you are to please me. You stand alone in that regard,” he let go of my hand as the waitress handed him a cup of coffee and a glass of water.

“I really like your tattoos,” the waitress said as she handed him the coffee.

“Thank you,” Erik responded to her, smiling a half-fake smile.

This happened almost every time we went out together. Some girl would tell him that they liked his tattoos. Oh my God, I love your tattoos…Your tattoos are so pretty…I really like the way your sleeve looks…I really got tired of hearing it. It was bad enough that he was gorgeous, and a Channing Tatum double. The tattoos just gave random people a reason to talk to him.

“What about kids?” he asked.

Oh, this was easy for me, but I wondered what he wanted me to say. Kids --I fucking hate kids. Every girl I know couldn’t wait to have a kid. The thought of having or being around a kid made my stomach ache. When I was in public, and I saw someone with a kid, I wanted to leave – have them leave, something. I detest children. I decided to roll the dice.

“I’m undecided on that; I guess it depends on the person and the status of the relationship. You know, if I felt comfortable, I would consider it,” I said, trying to look naturally happy. I may have even smiled a little.

“You just lied,” he said. His pursed his lips, and his mouth formed a little smile, like he had caught me stealing something. He shook his head.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Because you did. Your eyes. You lied. Let’s do this correctly, Kelli. No lying. No trying to tell me what I want to hear. I can’t stand kids. Kids make my skin crawl. The thought of children makes me ill.”

“Okay, I am sorry. I lied. I hate kids too. They make me sick, and that will never change,” I said, relieved.

He added cream and sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “Let me get a few drinks of this, and let’s get started,” he said, looking up from his coffee as he took a drink.

“Get started on what?”

“This relationship, baby girl,” he responded.