It’s terrifying. How do people do this all the time? Put themselves in such a vulnerable position? Open themselves up to rejection and heartbreak? Isn’t it easier to just avoid it altogether? Stay home. Stay alone.
As I slowly meander through the crowd, feeling the eyes of those around me slowly examining me, I stare back at each one, looking for that glowing green s that should be written on his mask.
It’s so crowded, I have to squeeze through the mass of bodies, getting a little frustrated by how impossible this feels. An older man with gray in his short beard steps in front of me, and I quickly try to move around him.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he shouts into my ear over the sound of the music.
I quickly shake my head. “I’m meeting someone. Thanks, though!”
With a shrug, he moves aside, clearly looking for his next target somewhere behind me. I shouldn’t be here, and that thought alone has my lunch threatening to return. I’m an owner. I feel as if I’m exploiting my company for my own personal gain, and although it shouldn’t, it has me swallowing down some mild discomfort. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. My partners use the club all the time, so why do I feel guilty?
Minutes go by and there’s no sign of him.
Glancing down at my watch on my second turn of the room, I see that it’s almost ten twenty, and he’s clearly not here. Which means he’s not coming. I should have expected as much. He was probably just messing with me the whole time. With no intention to actually see this through, he was just a young guy on an app, having a little fun with a desperate lady over a decade older than him.
I need a drink, but I’m too nervous to go to the bar and order one because Geo is bartending tonight, and I’m not quite confident enough that he wouldn’t recognize me in this disguise. I’m now lingering uncomfortably alone on the outskirts of the room, watching the entrance like a hawk. When the second guy of the night offers to buy me one, I shake my head again—even though I really want one.
Just as I’m about to give up on this whole dumb idea and pack away all of this Domme talk into a suitcase that I’ll bury forever, I glance up to see a very tall man in all black walk through the curtain and enter the masses.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I force myself to swallow as I spot the shiny letter on the outside corner of his black mask. He’s beautifully tan and slender, brown hair slicked back, and he’s wringing his hands together as if he’s nervous. Standing near the edge of the throng, he lets his eyes scan the room, and I wait in silence near the border as they finally land on me.
His hands freeze as his gaze rakes over my body, all the way down and back up again. His Adam’s apple bounces as he swallows, and he licks his lips, delicately making his way over to me.
Oh my God, this is happening. Oh my God, this is happening.
No turning back now.
I lift a hand to wave awkwardly, and before I know it, he’s standing only inches away. It’s so loud in here that when he opens his full lips to greet me, I don’t even hear his voice, but I make out the word, hi.
I’m staring at his eyes, or what little I can make out through the mask. His is black with intricate metal-like designs that reach up to cover his forehead and descend low enough that I can only see the bottom half of his mouth.
He reaches out, softly touching the side of my white mask with tall feathers covering the top of my face. As he delicately traces the D I scribbled on the side with the black light paint in the office, a shiver runs up my spine. And he’s not even touching me yet.
When he leans down, pressing his face close to my ear, I forget to breathe.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, loud enough for me to hear but gentle enough not to shout in my ear.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” I reply back, clinging to his tall frame to keep from tumbling over.