Page 9 of Baby Girl

Placing her cup on the table, she looked at me intently. I studied her face. This girl was not a girl; she was a determined woman - someone with an agenda, a plan. At least in her mind, she wasn’t afraid of whatever I was about to discuss or propose. I picked up my coffee, and took a slow sip for effect, then began to speak.

“For the sake of this conversation, I am speaking of me and only me for now. This, at this time, has nothing to do with my expectations of you, or any wants, needs, or desires of you. Understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I haven’t been in a relationship for my entire life. For the most part, all I have done is date around. I am no man-whore; I am extremely selective on who I see, and who I have sex with. I may see someone for a year or so, and never have sex with them. It depends totally on the person, on me, and on how I feel about the situation. Also, it hinges on their capacity to handle things. This is going to take a few minutes, so let me finish before you start asking questions, okay?”

She nodded and smiled.

“Some people are not able to make mental sense of a sex only relationship. These types of people are not for me. If there is an emotional attachment, or any expectation, things seem to fall apart. If I see, up front, that this is what a person is apt to expect…I will not allow myself to continue. It’s not fair to either one of us. I know my abilities, my capacities, and what my hopes are. I have no expectations. Expectations of others are never met, and that leads to being let down, being disappointed, and being hurt. Living, for me, with hope instead of expectation allows me to keep myself safe. Does that make sense so far?”

She smiled, and nodded her head once, slowly. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, I continued to speak.

“My father died when I was young. I grew up here, in Wichita without a father. I lived modestly, on the north side, and went to a private school. I was extremely intelligent, but rebellious. I ended up going to school for about thirteen years, all told, and became a psychiatrist. After school, I took a year to relax and ride my motorcycle, which is something I truly enjoy. In the first month or so after graduating, my mother was killed by a drunk driver,” I inhaled, and started to continue.

“Oh, Erik, I am so sorry,” She said softly, reaching toward my hand.

I raised my hand from the table, and held my index finger in the air. “Don’t be sorry. It’s certainly not your fault. Things, all things, happen for a reason. I am a firm believer in that. My point is this. I suspect that I am well aware of why I am the way that I am. Why I do not value woman as others do. Why I am incapable of a relationship, commitment, or marriage. Having experienced the loss that I have experienced, especially early in life - combined with being an only child, I fear being abandoned. My non-committal sexual lifestyle is my shield, my protection, my assurance that I will always be in charge of me, and no one has the ability or the authority to harm me,” I raised my coffee, and took another sip.

“So, here’s the thing. Now I am speaking of you, and not in general,” I said as I placed my coffee back on the table.

“Okay, I am ready, let’s hear it,” she said as she placed her chin in her hand.

Her blue eyes were piercing. Hypnotized somewhat by her eyes and the stark contrast with her black hair, I regained my thoughts and began to speak, “I am dominant, sexually. In life, through the course of the day, doing day-to-day activities, I am like any other male you will ever meet. Actually, I am considerably better. I am tactful, respectful, articulate, considerate, kind, romantic, and compassionate. But, I am not dominant. Not in life, just in sex. In sex, Kelli, I will accept nothing short of commitment on behalf of my partners. A commitment to be willing to receive and understand my desires, and an honest effort to fulfill them.”

“Are you violent?” she asked.

“No, not in any form, ever.”

“Abusive?”

“Never.”

“Wow, sounds like a dream come true,” she responded.

“Everyone thinks that, Kelli. At least they do initially. It isn’t something that is done half-assed. It’s a trust, a trust that’s developed. With some, it takes considerable time. With others, it takes a matter of minutes. But, contrary to the opinion of the vanilla people that occupy the majority of this earth, it is not a bark on command relationship. At least not for me. It’s a relationship that is discussed, the two parties decide the limitations, and those limitations are adhered to. What both parties are comfortable with will be on the list of possibilities. If we’re both not comfortable with it, regardless of my desire to have it, it will never be asked for. Not by me,” I paused and waited for her to speak.

“Just like I said before. Dream. Come. True,” she paused and took a drink of her coffee.

“Kelli, I intend on owning you. Know that.”

“Excuse me?” she asked quickly.

“Own you, Kelli,” she looked at me, puzzled, and I continued, “Not own in a sense of you being my property, Kelli. Own as in something I have earned. I intend to ruin you. Provide you with feelings and levels of satisfaction that you have never seen. Satisfaction that you will never, in my absence, see again. This level of satisfaction, this degree of feeling…it will ruin you. Ruin you from ever being satisfied by another man the way I satisfy you. Once you realize that you’re ruined, I will own you.”

“Wow. Confident much?” she asked, smiling.

“Actually, yes. I am probably the most confident man you’ll ever meet. But, I am confident for a reason. Because I know. I know my capacities. I know my abilities. I am not, in any respect, arrogant. I am confident,” I began to stand from my seat.

“Are we leaving?” she asked, looking around the coffee shop.

“No, we’re not leaving. I want you to go the restroom, Kelli, and remove your hoodie. Come back out here without it on, do you understand me?” I said in a commanding but soft spoken tone.

“I thought you weren’t dominant in day-to-day activities,” she stated, raising an eyebrow. She stood from her seat, and placed her coffee on the table.

“I’m not. I didn’t tell you to do it, I asked you. There’s a small difference. I told you what I wished that you’d do. Now you decide what to do on your own,” I hadn’t quite finished speaking when she started going to the restroom.

She emerged from the restroom in a matter of a few minutes, her hoodie draped over her arm. She wore an orange ribbed tank, and what appeared to be a sports bra underneath. Her nipples, beneath the bra and the shirt, were erect and quite apparent. The shirt hugged her skin. Her stomach flat, and her legs tan from the early summer sun, she walked to the table. Her posture was near perfect, and her walk defined her attitude. A desire to please the person that she was mentally committed to.