Risk Your Heart

I looked in his eyes. They were a really nice warm shade of brown with gold flecks. Of course the cheerleader married him. "So one day, three years ago, we were having sex..." he trailed off for a second and looked at me, like he was making sure it was okay to say this. I nodded.

He smiled, remembering. "We were having sex, and I was on top of her, having a grand old time, and she laughed. Just out of nowhere. It was probably just a giggle of joy really. But I said, 'You think that's funny?' and she nodded, and I said, 'I'll show you funny', and I started pounding harder."

He paused staring at a blank spot on the church wall. "Well that just made her laugh harder, so I started thrusting harder, and she started laughing more, and you know how it is, it was a challenge now, pretty soon I was going at it with everything I had and she said, 'You're going to break something.' Pretty soon we were both laughing and sweating and coming and it was absolutely the best sex you could possibly imagine, the best I've ever had, I swear I saw stars I came so hard."

He paused. I wondered if that was the end of the story.

"I rolled off her, and she put her hand to her chest and said, 'Ow.' Then I said, 'What?' She said, 'I have terrible heartburn or something.' I thought, serves you right for laughing at me during sex, but I didn't get a chance to say it because she said. 'It really hurts, Drew, will you go get me some Tums? I hopped out of bed to get her some Tums, and when I returned with the bottle she was dead."

I blinked.

"It wasn't heartburn. It was 'or something'. She had a heart attack."

"Oh my God. Drew."

"I never told anybody that before. I mean, the, you know"—he made a pumping gesture with his hands—"you know, the sex part. Everyone knows my wife died of a heart attack."

"Holy." I covered my mouth, horrified. "How old was she?"

"Twenty-three," Drew said. "You see, no one thinks that can happen to someone that young, right? That's part of the reason I told you. You look about that age. Young. Too young to have lost someone you love. You said you lost someone. It's bad enough that you want to break things, throw dishes, drive off a cliff, cry in front of a stranger? Well. I get it. But don't drive off a cliff, and don't cry in front of a stranger anymore. Cry in front of a friend."

I gave him a half smile, one side of my mouth sort of quirking up, as my eyes filled again, but the fat tears didn't roll over.

"Your turn," he said.

I shook my head.

"Come on, it can't be worse than my story. I fucked my wife to death."

"You did not!"

"I know. I just wanted to see if I could goad you into sharing. Maybe now's not the time. Maybe it's time for action. Let's figure out which project you're going to volunteer on."

"Can you decide for me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Sure, Leah," he said. The way he said my name, drawing it out slightly, with a deep tender sound made me feel warm inside. "Let's start you off with the Labor Day festival. I know we're smack in the middle of July, and September seems far away, but in planning terms, it's practically right around the corner. We've got to hop to it. The start of September, change of seasons, maybe it will give you something to look forward to; I have a feeling it's been one hard summer for you."

"You can say that again."

"Maybe a little hard labor will do you good," Drew said.

A little hard something anyway. Maybe not so little.

*

Drew gave me my assignments. I was going to work on publicity for the Labor Day festival, demonstration, show, and concert in the park. He walked me to my car. Only when we got there I remembered that the car hadn't started.

"Fuck," I said.

"Sssshh," Drew said. "You're in church."

"It's the church parking lot. That doesn't count." I kicked my front tire.

"What's wrong?"

"I think my battery's dead."

"No problem. I've got cables."

I waited while Drew drove his car up to mine and did that thing with the jumper cables that all guys know how to do. After a minute he said, "Okay, now try."

I did. Same sputtering sound.

Drew leaned into my open driver's side window. "That's not the battery."

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "Alternator probably."

Yikes.

I took my cell phone out to call a tow truck. No service. "Fuck."

"Bad girl," Drew said.

I snapped my head around to him. He had been joking; he hadn't meant to make me wet.

Drew took out his cell. He had service. He put the phone up to his face and made his voice mimic the exact tone of the geeky guy in those old commercials. "Can you hear me now?" Drew glanced over at me, and I could see he was fighting a smile.

"Very funny," I said.

I got out and stood next to him. I went to grab the phone from him, but he held it up and away and I had to reach for it, bringing my body against his.

"Tell me who you lost," he said softly.

"My..."—Dominant—"Boyfriend. We never officially got married, but we lived together for eleven years. So by common law, that's my husband. He died a year ago. Car accident."

"Eleven years?" Drew said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six," I said.

I could see him do the math in his head and raise his eyebrows.

"We weren't..." I touched my forefinger and thumb together and made a fucking motion with my fingers. "You know. Together that way at first."

He put his hands up. "No judgment."

He handed me his phone. I called; they said it would be an hour and a half wait. Fuck. Sunday late evening. Crap.

"Listen, Leah," Drew said. "The first Labor Day planning committee meeting is here, tomorrow. You work from home right? Why don't I give you a ride home? I can pick you up tomorrow, and we can deal with it then. We can call it in, have the meeting, and when we're done the tow will be here."

I nodded.

We laughed more on the ride back to my apartment than I had in the past year. Drew and I had an ease of conversation I've never had, not even with my Dom.

Drew was an EMT. I got instinctively that he tried to make up for not being able to save his wife by saving others. I also understood that he liked the excitement. I liked that he liked the excitement. I wanted excitement, too.

He dropped me off, promised to pick me up at six p.m. tomorrow, and motored out of sight.

I stood in the parking lot for a minute, staring down the road where his car had been, like a puppy straining at its leash, leaning forward, panting for its owner to come back.

It took me a while to get my key into the lock and open the door to my apartment. I kept replaying him saying, 'I have a feeling it's been one hard summer for you.'. I felt like we had some sort of mystical connection, and it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling that spaced me out enough that it took me three tries to unlock my door.

For some strange reason (cough) my evening was relaxed. I only woke up once during the night, and I felt refreshed in the morning. It was like meeting Drew helped heal something.

The day passed, and I found my mind drifting to Drew more often than not. I was anticipating six o'clock long before lunchtime. It had been months since I had anticipated anything.

As soon as I opened my door that delicious zing of excitement ran from my head to my toes. I realized I never felt that before.

I gave him my biggest smile and a sharp salute.

"Ready for volunteer duty," I said.

"Great," he said, stepping back so I'd have room to walk past him, "Let's get to it."

The air had cooled down somewhat. A bunch of teenagers ran by us, wearing tiny bikinis, carrying lawn chairs, and letting their red, white, and blue beach towels flap out behind them like flags.

"You'll like everyone else on the team," Drew said when we got in his car. "Like I said, we have a lot to do and only a few more weeks to get ready."

I was embarrassed to admit it, but I didn't even know exactly when Labor Day was.

"Ahhhh, I've pretty much been in my own world lately."

"Understandable," he said. "This will bring you out of it somewhat. Now I also have you arranging and finalizing performers and lecturers for the festival. Kathy was doing it, but she went into early labor, no pun intended, so now I'm counting on you."

I nodded. "Yes, Sir," I said comically and gave him another snappy salute. That wasn't the way I wanted to be saying yes sir to him, but it would have to do for now.

He gave a soft chuckle.

"I've got all the stuff you need in a folder here." He glanced down to the console between us, and I saw an orange folder. "You'll need to fill a few holes in the schedule."

The meeting went by quickly. I took care of my car. Something about just meeting Drew had made mundane tasks seem okay.

I worked on the Labor Day Festival plans every day. I frequently needed to call Drew to ask about details. Pretty soon I was looking forward to the calls, making up reasons for longer and longer conversations, soaking up details about his life like an avid stamp collector gathers pretty postage squares.

Each time I called, that miraculous connection I felt between us grew stronger. It was like tasting a fabulous dish, that as you ate each bite only got better and better.

I looked forward to the twice-a-week Labor Day volunteer meetings more than I could remember looking forward to anything in a long time, maybe ever.

Drew and I fell into a pattern of standing by my car after each meeting and talking for a while. The topics stayed light: movies, music, favorite TV shows. Drew liked Big Bang Theory. He was an avid Star Trek and Star Wars fan and loved animated films. He declared, with unabashed verve, that Toy Story was the best.

We both agreed that it was a terrible summer for the pop charts. Drew made me laugh by doing rousing parodies and perfect imitations of Taylor Swift, Jason Derulo, Bruno Mars, Nikki Minaj (complete with butt wiggle), and other summer releases we played on our phones. The same five or six artists kept churning out hits that sounded suspiciously like what they released last summer and the summer before.

I was falling more and more for Drew. I thought he liked me. The problem was he wasn't making any moves. I wasn't the make-the-first-move type. I had been a submissive for so long I was used to it. Maybe I was naturally submissive.

I didn't know how to bridge the gap between just friends and what I really wanted. I was afraid Labor Day would come and go, my volunteer tour of duty would be over, and I would never see him again. I wanted to do something. But what?

I decided that maybe the best way to broach the subject was just to come out and say it. I practiced what I was going to say. 'Drew, I'd like you to be my dominant. Drew, I want you to be my dominant; I'd love you to be my dominant.' Not exactly flowery, and it had a lot of potential for rejection, but it was straight to the point.

On the phone wouldn't be good, so I decided the best time would be after one of the festival planning meetings, during the usual conversation time Drew and I had after the meeting, in the parking lot.

It was the first Tuesday in August, the first meeting in August, and I decided that was as good a day as any. Gulp.

I sweated enough during the meeting that I imagined putting buckets underneath me to catch the overflow. Maybe we could take my sweat to a desalinization plant and solve the late August summer drought. I felt like all my art pencils were lodged in my throat.

The meeting dragged on, and everyone's voices began to sound far away, as if they were underwater. I wanted to wipe my armpits. Despite chill from the loud air conditioner, I felt hot. My skin was clammy, my palms damp, my mouth dry. I guess I should be used to that. It only got worse when Drew and I went to stand by my car for our after-meeting talk.

"Leah, you okay?" Drew asked me.

"Ah, yes, it's just I...."

"What?"

I looked down at the pavement, overcome by nerves. My heart was racing. "I want you...." I said, but then I stalled out.

"Oh, God, Leah," he said. "I want you, too." He reached out and caressed my cheek, slid his hand to the back of neck, pulled me close, and kissed me.

I immediately got lost in the kiss. His tongue danced with mine so sweetly, and his left hand pressed firmly into my lower back. My body heated, and my nipples tightened. I sighed into his mouth.

"I wanted to do that for a long time," he said when he broke away for air.

I was all relaxed from the kiss. It was like being drugged in the best way. I remembered my Dom once saying you should start as you plan to finish. "I was going to say, I want you to be my Dom," I said.

He took a step back. "Like...."

I waited.

"Dominance and submissive?" He sounded very unsure, and maybe a little repulsed. BDSM?"

I nodded.

"Leah, I don't know anything about that."

I felt like my heart collapsed.

There was a pause—barely a second—where I thought of all those nightmares I'd been having, and waited to be rejected.

"But if it's something you want, I'm willing to learn, and if it's something you need, I'm willing to try," Drew said.

I smiled at him. Looked like it was going to be a good day after all.

*

The next night Drew took me out to a fancy restaurant, and followed it with a silly movie called Pixels, where aliens attack using a big Pixelated Pac Man. I thought I'd hate it, but I laughed my ass off. Even though it was our first date, I thought it might be pretty indicative of who Drew really was, deeply romantic and joyfully silly.

Drew's schedule rotated. The next week he had the evenings off, and he planned a date for us every night. On every date he held my hand, or gently ran his fingers up the tender skin on the inside of my forearm.

The next week he switched to night shifts, leaving days and evening free for dates. He planned a museum trip, lunch at a burger joint, and hikes that included picnics by the lake, and two sunset walks on the beach. One day when he came to pick me up he brought me a big sunflower. Yeah, it sounded like a hokey personal ad, but I loved it. Coming from being a teenager on the streets, to my Dom's strict ways, all this wooing was new to me. I was captivated by each little gesture.

Drew was holding my hand as we walked a bike path in the park when he said, "I haven't forgotten what we talked about."

I didn't need to ask what he was referring to, even though we had had many general conversations since, and none about... you know.

"I've been doing research. I want to make sure I get everything right for you. Start out well, continue well. I want it to be everything you want it to be. Something that will last."

I got goose bumps. A dominant and a nice guy? I hadn't thought such things existed.

"I guess good things come to people who volunteer," I said.

He made a 'that's sickening' gagging noise in his throat. "Good things come to good little submissives who follow directions."

I smiled, and then bit my bottom lip. I saw a lot of hope for this.

After that conversation there wasn't any other mention of things to come.

I spent the next days in a delicious juxtaposition of enjoying the quiet romance and fighting the building tension and anticipation of what he might do.

In my mind I thought that Labor Day might be a culmination of the waiting, a jumping board starting point, although I didn't know why.

When the morning of Labor Day, September 7th, came, I was nervous, excited, and anxious. My skin was clammy, and my fingers were cold. I could wrap them around my water glass and keep it cool all year and back to next summer again. I reminded myself that a submissive's job was to trust.

But as I stood in front of my closet I found myself having a slight anxiety attack over what to wear. I was used to my Dom making so many of my decisions for me that when it came to a big day, even for a festival, I was staring at too many choices, hoping to get the exact outfit to best please Drew. I decided to call him.

"Hi, Drew," I said. I heard my voice falter. I wondered if calling him was a good idea. "I'm not sure what to wear? I was calling to see if you had a preference? A suggestion?"

I could hear the change in his breathing; it was like there was a snap in the air that caused a change in the temperature. When he spoke his voice was firm to the point of demanding. "You're going to wear a red push-up bra, a red thong, your best jeans, and the loosest shirt you have." His voice got even harsher, lower in tone, quieter. "Say, 'Yes, Sir.'"

"Yes, Sir," I said.

"Good." He hung up.

Yikes.

I dressed with care, taking extra time on my hair and make-up. I had a red bra and panty set I had never worn that fit the bill. I wasn't sure about the loosest shirt. The biggest shirt I had was actually a white shirt with a cartoon cat on it that I wore as a nightshirt. I decided to wear it with a little scrunchi hair band tied at the hip in one corner, 80's style.

I met Drew at the volunteer's tent. He raked his eyes up and down my body, from head to toe and back again, his gaze predatory. I thought he had x-ray vision from how he smiled. "Nice," he whispered in my ear when he came in close. The way he said that one word, with an edge to it, like he was saying, 'Oh fuck yeah', made me catch my breath.

I was surprised how much that one compliment made me glow inside. I had missed this so much.

The festival started on time. The turnout was huge, and everyone was enjoying themselves. Pretty soon the park was packed, and it was time for all the entertainers and educators I booked, one after another. Drew found a place for us in the crowd. He pulled me in front of him, and wrapped his arms around my waist. He moved a little bit, until he was leaning against a big oak tree.

I got caught up in the excitement of the crowd, the great feeling of Drew's chest, warm against my back, and how great he smelled, some subtle cologne I couldn't identify and his own unique scent that made me feel so bonded to him. We enjoyed the casual feel and the joy of the day, and listened to band after band, and a lecturer. The final performer took the stage, a magician who was both informative and attention grabbing with his messages.

Drew slipped the elastic hairband off the lower corner of my shirt. His hand slid up to my stomach.

"So," he whispered in my ear, his voice deep, "you'd like it if I tell you what to do, and how to do it."

I blinked, the sudden change of pace shocking my brain into a new mode I hadn't expected. Without me giving it any conscious direction to, my head seemed to move on its own, and I nodded, ever so slightly.

He caressed a circle on my belly. "And you want me to tie you down when I make love to you, fuck you."

I wasn't sure if that was a question, or if that needed a response, but I nodded again, just the tiniest movement.

Drew opened the top snap of my jeans.

"And excite you in public places."

Oh my God.

"Nod for me, Leah."

I nodded.

"Good girl," he growled softly. At those words I got wet. His hand slid lower. I was suddenly aware of all the people crushed around us, the sunshine, the sound of the microphone's occasional feedback as the magician talked about the "magic" of the laborers getting together in 1882 for social change.

Drew's hand dipped lower.

"Blindfold you."

Oh fuck.

"Put a gag in your mouth when I fuck you so hard I make you scream," Drew whispered in my ear. His fingers gently pushed my panties out of the way and caressed my folds. My temperature spiked.

"Use a spreader bar when I take you from behind." Drew found my clitoris and gave it a quick flick. I jerked. Drew wrapped his other arm around me and tightened his hold. "Don't moooovvve, Leah." Pause. "Or I'm going to—" Pause. "Punish you."

My eyes fluttered closed to half-mast.