Four is a crowd
There is peace even in the storm.
-- 1876 letter from Vincent van Gogh to his brother
Classes didn’t get any more interesting over the span of a weekend, but there was something distinctly different about this one, something he just couldn’t put his finger on. Somehow, for the first time ever, he was able to pay attention to the lecture. The subject was still just as boring as ever, yet he managed to follow the professor’s train of thought anyway, without his mind wandering off like it’d done last week. That might be because it was the first time he’d come to class not high and relatively well-rested, even if hungover—no one was perfect. Either way, this class gave him hope that maybe they weren’t all bad.
As soon as the professor wrapped it up, he walked up to them and asked after the textbook. Clearly annoyed, they told him that the bibliography used for their classes was listed on the website. They’d said that a million times last week, apparently—where was he? A quick glance down at some documents on their desk showed Theodore’s acceptable attendance record, with only a couple of absences. His face burned, feet stepping away from the professor. With a brief thank you on his lips, he turned to leave.
It took him a bit of fiddling with the website to figure out where the bibliographies were kept. Luckily, every subject had a main textbook that the professor followed, so he made a point to visit the library during lunch. A quick stop at one of the sandwich places satiated his hunger before he rushed off to the library with no time to even glance around looking for the girls; he only had one hour to do this and his building was really far. They’d surely understand.
Walking fast made him feel pretty good, like he had somewhere to be on a timely manner, like he was important enough for appointments of that nature. No one had to know what business he had at the library, only that he couldn’t dilly-dally on the way.
The library was way too big to navigate by himself and still find everything he needed, so he ended up asking one of the people behind the counter for help. The one who volunteered was a very old lady about half his height.
As she walked him through the aisles, she explained the reasoning behind the placement of each book. They were all separated by major and each of those sections were alphabetized by the author’s last name. They all had numbers attributed to them as well, but Theodore didn’t really understand that part and decided against asking; he probably wouldn’t be here very often. The numbering system had something to do with the title of each book—that was all he could gather.
They went through the business section taking what he needed with a brief stop at the economics section and another at the finance one. He had no idea how those two sections were different, but he supposed he’d get to learn that as classes progressed. All in all, he checked out six massive textbooks, only to then remember he hadn’t even brought his backpack. God. How had he gone from a straight-A student to this?
The afternoon period was much easier to follow along with the textbook over his desk. Who would’ve thought? The subject itself was still the most uninteresting one he’d ever had the displeasure to study, but the text kept him focused. The professor followed it pretty much to a T, and when they happened to make an interesting remark, he took note of it with a pen and a piece of paper he’d borrowed from the guy sitting next to him. He hadn’t even bought any notebooks, still using the same pens and other office supplies from high school, which he’d left at home. Jesus Christ. If his parents could see him right now, they’d probably disown him.
His last period was the worst. Usually, by the time it came around, he was so tired from staying up all night that he could barely even function. This was the first time he even caught the name of the subject—marketing. Who gave a single shit about marketing? That was the worst one yet, regardless of sleeping schedule. He was tired, but nowhere near how tired he’d been all of last week; he had those two or so hours from last night to account for it. Still, he couldn’t say he’d managed to absorb much about marketing, even with the textbook right in front of his face.
When he got home, carrying his books and notes in both arms like a freak, the girls hadn’t arrived yet. That was usually how it went; he imagined they stayed on campus after class to make friends and hang out. Honestly, he had no idea. He set the textbooks on his desk and checked the time—3:30 p.m. Laith was at work. On a regular day, this was when he’d fall face-first on the mattress and sleep, but since he had plans at eight, he could only sleep for three and a half hours. He’d have to set an alarm for that. With his clothes hanging over the back of his office chair, he slipped under the covers.
***
The alarm went off what felt like two seconds after he’d set it. His eyes opened as if they’d never closed, not rested but not tired either. It was weird.
The first thing he noticed were the muffled sounds that traveled down the hallway, light shining through the slit under his door—the girls must be having dinner. He hadn’t caught them awake in a very long time.
Getting up, he noticed how badly his body ached, worse in his thighs, arms sore from carrying heavy books all day. It felt like he had to physically push himself out of bed rather than spring joyfully from it. Hell. His phone had no notifications on the screen, so he placed it back on the nightstand and got up to take a shower. He really needed one.
The partial lighting in the hallway kept his presence inconspicuous, making it possible to slip into the bathroom unnoticed. Daisy sat nearest the hallway, the most likely person to catch sight of him, but she seemed too entertained by the girls’ conversation to peel her eyes from the kitchen. Good.
Locked in the bathroom, he could strip down and turn a bit to glance at his thighs, where Laith had spanked him. His skin was a bit red, but other than that, he couldn’t really find any bruising. His shoulders drooped with disappointment. The way it’d hurt had made him believe it’d been much worse, that he’d find his ass black and blue—how come? Incidentally, how bad would it need to be for a proper bruise? He kind of wanted one now.
It was a new feeling for sure, something he’d never experienced before, to want to be struck so hard that a bruise would be the aftermath, a trophy he could admire all day. My god, what was wrong with him? The hickey on his collarbone was still there, fainter than before, but still present enough to be seen. He liked it, the physical confirmation that Laith had touched him, that he’d been there. A bruise on his ass would be the same thing. Hickeys were extremely common; people did that all the time, he wasn’t weird. There was nothing wrong with that.
Every time he walked somewhere and his legs ached, he thought of last night, how far they’d been spread, knees practically touching his chest. If they were going to do this regularly, he should really start stretching or something. Oh my god, was that why Hannah and Jessie had picked up yoga these last few months? That realization burned his eyebrows straight off his face.
Back in his room, he put on his patterned jacket, the one Laith associated with the Hollywood boys. That had nothing to do with what Theodore had seen last night; the Hollywood boys didn’t actually know how to dress and only wore expensive clothes to show them off, so no, he didn’t care to be compared to them. He just put this jacket on because Laith liked it.
He left the room at 7:45 p.m., while the girls were having dinner. Since the dining room was directly by the door, it’d be impossible to sneak out.
They caught sight of him right away, and with half-eaten tacos in their mouths, desperately invited him to have some. It was taco night, apparently. For as much as he loved that, he hadn’t accounted for dinner; having some would make him way later than he wanted to be. There was a bit of a back and forth when he expressed that, with them trying to get him to sit down for a minute while he reasoned his way out the door and tried to say goodbye. The only argument that actually got him to pause came from Jessie, that Justin had texted her today. Theodore hadn’t expected that. The way Emily had called Justin up to her apartment had given him the impression that something would happen between them after everybody had left. He supposed he was wrong.
“What did he say?”
Jessie folded her soft taco shell in half. “A lot of things. We’ve been texting all day.” She brought the taco up to her face, just short of biting into it. “I might see him tomorrow.” She took a bite.
“Are you flirting?”
She nodded, chewing quietly. Oh my god.
“Are you actually seeing him tomorrow?” Hannah asked. “On a school night?”
Jessie shrugged, mumbling the word maybe with a hand over her mouth. She swallowed before adding to that. “He said he could see me after work. He has a truck.” That last part was spoken with a half-smirk. “Maybe we won’t even need to go anywhere.”
“Tell him to park around the corner, at least.” Theodore made a face, hand pulling the front door open. “The doorman doesn’t need to see that.”
He left to the sound of laughter.
***
It was around 8:30 p.m. when he got to Laith’s apartment. To his delight, the two queens were in their doorways again, chatting each other up, shooting judgmental looks up and down the hallway. When they caught sight of him, big grins stretched on their faces, hands waving at him with whistles to accompany their high spirits.
“C’mon, Diesel jacket!”
“Look at you. What is this Hollywood moment you’re serving us?” A hand motioned to him, up and down, as D’angela talked. “It’s posh, it’s chic, it’s rich boy on the street!”
“Give us a twirl, mama. Let’s see it all.”
He did as he was told, turning around while the women whistled. He’d never received a reaction like this before, so positive about anything he’d done. It was pretty wild. As soon as his eyes met theirs again, he found himself grinning wide, not even aware of when it’d sneaked onto his face. They made him feel as if he were on top of the world just for being here.
“That’s a ten from me.”
“Literally gagged.”
He passed Laith’s door a quick glance, feet approaching the queens.
“Your man isn’t in yet,” Ms. Intervention informed him, “but you can stick around until he comes back. It should be soon.”
“Oh, I’m not—” Suddenly, words failed him. Yes, he was wondering that. He gave her a smile. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you guys, anyway. Ms. Intervention already knows this, but I went to your shows last night. Did you see me, D’angela?”
“Of course I did! You two were standing by the VIP area.”
“They surprised us both.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” he explained. “I had no idea you two would be performing last night. I mean, I should’ve known, but I guess I wasn’t thinking about it.”
“Why didn’t you come backstage to see me too?” D’angela pouted, arms crossed over her chest. Did she not know about Laith’s little situation? Well, if she didn’t, then he wouldn’t be the one to tell it.
“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe next time.”
“You better!”
“I had no idea you guys dressed up and stuff. I thought only men did that.”
“Anyone can do drag,” Ms. Intervention clarified. “For example, I’m a proud transwoman and Brian is a gay man.”
Wait, Brian? Theodore turned to D’angela only to see her playfully shove her friend on the arm. “Don’t call me that! It breaks the illusion.”
“Right, of course. I meant to say Brian is a biological woman.”
“That’s better.” D’angela grinned.
Theodore was extremely confused. “So you’re a guy and you’re a girl?” He pointed at each one of them while speaking to illustrate his point.
“Correct.”
“I don’t mind if you call me a woman,” D’angela explained. “I’m used to it. That’s my stage persona after all, but yes, I am a man in a wig. Not right now, though!” She touched the baldness at the top of her head. “I don’t dress up on Mondays.”
“We work Wednesday to Sunday.”
“Should I call you guys by your real names or your stage names?” He had absolutely no idea how this worked.
“It’s up to you, sweetheart.” Ms. Intervention’s slender shoulders bounced. “Only very close friends call me Lucy.”
“Oh, then I should probably stick to Ms. Intervention.”
“Theo.” She reached forward and cupped his face in a hand. “I’m your drag mother. You can call me Lucy.”
He smiled.
“Do not call me Brian.” D’angela flipped a strand of invisible hair off her shoulder. “Like I said, it breaks the illusion.”
Theodore laughed. “Okay, queen. I’ll keep your secret.”
“Thank you very much.”
It was clear to him that this was the perfect opportunity to ask them what he’d been meaning to know and gather intel on the man who only told certain things to certain people. He glanced at Laith’s door again, heart skipping a beat. “Do you guys, like—do you guys hang out with Laith a lot?”
Ms. Intervention hummed. “I’d say pretty often. It comes with the territory, living so close to each other.”
“Mondays and Tuesdays, mostly,” D’angela added. “Last week was especially bad.”
“What happened last week?” His eyes grew so wide he could feel them on his face.
“We don’t have the full story, but he was really upset about something. He came to my room on Tuesday, sat on the floor near the bed and drank an entire bottle of Jack all by himself. He wasn’t making any sense.”
“For context, he was already drunk before leaving for work,” D’angela explained. “He was drunk every day last week, actually. Drunk and high. We know he likes to indulge and that’s fine, but it’s not usually like that.”
“He talked about Emily a lot. I don’t know who she is and I have no idea what any of it meant, but he had her on his mind.”
“Do you remember what kind of stuff he said?” Theodore’s voice was small, pulse running cold.
“Something about making her angry.”
“He kept asking us if we thought he was a bad person. I remember he covered his eyes with a hand and mumbled that he was good, or that he tried to be. It was really depressing.”
“Yes, that’s true; he was stuck on this dichotomy between good and bad. He really wanted us to know that he was good.”
Theodore’s blood cooled into ice.
Both queens glanced up from him, eyes fixed over his shoulder. Their subsequent smiles and waves let him know that someone came down the hallway, which he guessed could only be one person. With a deep breath in his lungs, he turned to see Laith approach, carrying the aluminum bat over a shoulder, leather gloves on his hands. He seemed delightfully surprised, with a small smile on his face. The bat came down as he stopped walking, completing the circle between Theodore and D’angela. If any resident needed to navigate this hallway, they’d have a difficult time; Theodore could hear their voices, disembodied arguments as shadows went up and down the stairs. People here were very opinionated.
“Hey, uh. I forgot to tell you something.”
Laith’s comment lifted Theodore’s eyebrows.
“Earlier, I mean. I said I leave around eight, which is true, but I forgot to mention I usually hit the gym afterwards. I’ll skip today, since you’re already here, but yeah. I thought you’d like to know, for future, uh—” Green eyes glanced very briefly at the queens that watched them, posture stiffening. “Dates.”
A smile tugged onto the corners of Theodore’s lips. This was a date? In his peripherals, he saw the big grins on the girls’ faces, heads turning to give each other looks. Despite that, no one teased Laith for it. They must know how difficult it was for him to say stuff like this.
“You don’t have to skip tonight. I’ll come with you,” Theodore offered.
Dark eyebrows pinched together. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. What’s better than watching hot guys work out?”
“Amen, sister.”
Ms. Intervention’s comment prompted him to turn toward her. “Do you wanna come with? We could all hang out.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin your date.”
“It’s not a date if it’s four of us,” D’angela reasoned. “I’d like to go. I haven’t been to the gym in ages.”
“Well…”
“I think you’ll have fun.” Laith shrugged. “Let me get my stuff.” With that, he turned to unlock his door and walk in. Theodore decided to wait in the hallway, watching as both women also turned to their own apartments.
“Oh, I don’t even know what to wear!”
“I have to beat this face, hold on.”
***
When Ms. Intervention wasn’t performing, she wore a nice curly wig and very natural-looking makeup, while D’angela wore boy clothes. They both looked nice in their own way. Theodore understood what they’d meant now, that one of them was a woman and the other was a guy. Their drag personas just happened to both be women.
Since Laith was the only one with a membership at the gym, everyone else had to pay to get in. It wasn’t too much, though. Both Laith and D’angela hit the locker room to get dressed, and since Theodore had no intention to actually work out, he stayed behind. To his surprise, Ms. Intervention felt the same way about it—they were only here for the hot guys. Not to mention he’d just showered and had no change of clothes; if these got sweaty and gross, he’d have to deal with them for the rest of the night. No, thanks.
Her excuse was that she’d never promised to exercise in the first place; her presence was a gift. She already exerted herself enough night after night, five days a week—a hand flipped some of her curls back, body swaying at the witticism of her comment, very similar to what D’angela had done earlier. This was probably just something drag queens did. Either way, the joke wasn’t lost on Theodore; he elbowed her with a big grin on his face.
The gym was much bigger than he’d expected it to be. The main floor was basically a big room with an aisle in the middle and all kinds of equipment on both sides, categorized by function; if their focus was the arms, the legs, the back and so on. Since half the group wasn’t even here to exercise and D’angela had never actually been to this gym, they all just followed Laith around, hopping from machine to machine as his routine required. He spent about ten minutes in each one, so they were always moving around, scoping out the area.
Every time Theodore saw someone worthy of his attention, he made sure to inform Ms. Intervention about them, which kept the two relatively close to one another. If she sat on one of those stationary bicycles, he’d hang around, pretending to coach her; if he walked on a treadmill, she’d lean on one of the handlebars and pretend to coach him instead. That way, they didn’t actually do any exercise, but still wouldn’t get kicked out for not participating, if that was even a thing. Honestly, he didn’t know.
He watched Laith a lot. In a tight tank top and short shorts, his body was in full view; biceps flexing, stomach tensing, thighs big and firm. It was a mesmerizing performance. Theodore tried not to stare too much, or Laith would notice, so his eyes would wander, his body would lean close to Ms. Intervention for a comment or two, and then he’d immediately glance back at what mattered. Laith’s skin gleamed with sweat, tank top low on his cleavage, hair falling over one eye. The longer they spent here, the quicker Theodore’s heart raced, growing more interested. By the time Laith’s routine was done, Theodore could barely even look at him; the way his clothes clung to his body, tattoos stretching with the movement of his muscles. It was far too much.
While Theodore and Ms. Intervention waited for the other two to shower, she commented on how openly he’d ogled Laith up and down. She said it in a friendly way, with no intention to embarrass him, but his still face burned, eyes blown wide—he didn’t know he was so obvious. Oh, but he was. Her laughter was affectionate, hand touching him on the back. He was mortified. Oh god, had Laith noticed it? Abso-fucking-lutely; there was no way he hadn’t. If it was any consolation, though, Laith had stolen glances at him too, except he was much better at it. Knowing that only helped fuel the fire that swallowed Theodore’s face.
On the way back to their apartments, Laith threw an arm across Theodore’s shoulders and pulled him under his wing. It was nice, the casual nature of it, how thoughtlessly Laith did it now. Theodore remembered when he’d first found out about Marquis and Hwan and the jealousy in his veins, how he would’ve killed for anything even remotely similar to what they had. Now, this kind of affection seemed to come very naturally to Laith, to want to keep him close, pressed to his side. His heart still soared every time it happened.
The group talked about the most egregious topics he’d ever heard, things he never thought he’d hear anyone say. It went in line with what Ms. Intervention had brought up at her show; the sex positions, the intricacies of the act itself, the good and the bad. Theodore couldn’t, for his life, add anything to the conversation, but ate up everything that was discussed. That way, he found out D’angela was—surprisingly—a top, that her type was soft and squishy, and that she was a big fan of rimming. That word alone closed a hand around his throat and strangled him. She loved doing it; she talked about it a lot.
As for Ms. Intervention, she preferred big and hairy, bonus points if he had a belly, double bonus points if he had children. She liked when they threw her down on the bed, turned her around, held her in a million different positions and pretty much just went to town. Theodore would never say it, but the whole time she expressed those feelings, all he could think was how similar they were in that regard. He understood D’angela’s passion for being in charge and taking control, but the surprise of letting someone else take the reins was also exciting. He could honestly get down with both. What did that make him? It seemed he could never choose a side on absolutely anything. Was that what being bisexual really meant?
Laith was extremely predictable. Nothing he said was really surprising or even new information; Theodore already knew it all. He liked pretty much everything and was willing to try whatever his partner was interested in, an eclectic in every regard. He’d been with all kinds of men and had a wide range of preferences, but if he had to choose—and here, his eyes very briefly glanced at Theodore, pressed tightly against his side—he’d say his type was well-dressed and spoiled, like a model straight out of a Vogue magazine, covered in Versace. The two women whistled while Theodore simply squinted. For as much as Laith had made a point to be talking about him, that description very well encompassed every member of the Hollywood boys too. Again, perfectly predictable.
“What’s your type, kitten?”
He parted his lips to answer, but suddenly, every word he ever knew escaped him. His mind drew a complete blank. He thought of his friends’ dads swimming in the pool and how he’d fantasized about them; he thought of the guy from the threesome video and how he’d fantasized about him too, and lastly, he thought of Laith, the first person he’d ever been interested in. What did they all have in common? It bore noticing that, as soon as Ms. Intervention posed the question, nothing came to mind, not an image, not a single person. “I guess… bigger and older than me.”
The two queens nodded.
“That’s everybody’s type until you realize that wanting someone older would mean visiting a nursing home,” Ms. Intervention commented.
That pulled laughter from D’angela’s throat. “Bitch, you’re forty! Don’t be dramatic.”
Both women laughed.
“Does that go for girls too?”
Laith’s question focused blue eyes up on his face, wide. “Huh?”
“Is bigger and older your type for women too?”
Theodore had heard him the first time; the confusion had come from surprise. His heart beat awkwardly in his chest, as if shifted a little too far to the side—they hadn’t talked about this in months. In fact, the last time they’d discussed Theodore’s attraction to women had been right before they’d first fooled around, when he’d told Laith about Jessie. Sure, Laith brought that up a lot and made fun of it, but it was different, a joke about something that had happened in the past, something that didn’t affect Theodore anymore. He was completely disconnected from it. This question, however, touched on a part of his sexuality that felt strange to discuss with a bunch of people who were only attracted to men. Ironically, he’d feel a lot more comfortable talking about it with his father, of all people, even if his father didn’t really get it either.
“Um.”
He thought of Jessie and the time they’d gone shopping, when she’d caught him staring at her chest; he thought of Sherry and the curves of her hips, wider than any part of his own body, but what did those two even have in common? They were complete opposites. Well, when it came to skin color, that was true, but placing them side-to-side in his mind, he realized their body type was very similar.
“I guess tall and…” Oh god, how could he say this without sounding gross? “And, uh—tall with wide hips.” He had absolutely no idea how to respectfully bring up the other thing, so he just cut it out. No one in this circle would even relate to it, anyway.
Laith cocked his head aside, frowning. “I guess Jessie’s tall.”
“Of course she is.”
“Yeah, but who really comes to mind is Sherry.”
The breath that Theodore pulled into his lungs cooled at the base of his throat, stuck there for a moment, heart skipping a beat. Before Laith could see the shock on his face, he turned to the two queens who watched them curiously. “Do you prefer taller guys or shorter guys?” he asked. It was the first question that came to mind. Anything to end his previous conversation with Laith.
“Taller,” they both answered.
“Or as tall as I am,” Ms. Intervention clarified. “It’s pretty difficult to find someone too much taller.”
“Well, it’s easy for me,” D’angela remarked. “Tall and big is everywhere.”
“But aren’t you a top?” Theodore asked.
“So what? I like to top men who are twice my size. I feel like a climber on top of Mount Everest. There’s truly nothing like it.”
Laith laughed. “You’re fucking insane. How is that comparable?”
D’angela glanced him up and down. “I can tell you’ve never experienced it, but being on top of a massive man who could easily crush you to death is extremely liberating. I bet Theo feels like a bullfighter on top of you.”
That comment reached an arm down Theodore’s throat and pulled his soul right out. He was gone.
“Wouldn’t he feel the same way riding the bull?”
Thankfully, Laith’s question didn’t affect him, because he wasn’t here anymore. This conversation didn’t touch him at all.
“Maybe, but the experience is different.”
“He’s not heavy enough to crush Theo,” Ms. Intervention rebutted.
“No, but he could crush him with his arms. It doesn’t matter how you can be crushed, as long as you know you wouldn’t stand a chance against the man you’re topping. That’s the fun part.”
“Well…” That word left him in a daze. His mind’s autonomy pulled a memory from the fog, when he’d topped Laith that one time, how Laith had barely moved under his weight, unbothered in the slightest. Even now, he still wished he had bothered him. That he’d climbed Mount Everest and fought the bull. “It’s a power trip,” he commented.
“Right.”
“How does it feel when you—” That question slipped out before he could process the rest of it, mind tackling the inner workings of his brain without consciousness, buried under layers and layers of thought. How would it feel like to have bothered Laith? To have done something to him, something good, the same way he did to Theodore. The exhilaration he usually got from sucking Laith off was more than enough to get high on; he couldn’t even imagine what making Laith cum under different circumstances would feel like, what it’d do to him. If he were good at it, he’d probably never go back. Memories of Laith’s hands coming down on his body and the sting on his thighs immediately caused him to reconsider that, though. Maybe they could take turns.
He stared at D’angela. “Do you ever hit them?” It was either going to be that or something much more embarrassing. His face tingled anyway, but thankfully, no one mentioned it.
Shaved eyebrows pinched together, manicured hand falling limp at the wrist. “Oh yeah, all the time. You’d be surprised with how much these bottoms love to be spanked, tied up and gagged. Girl, I’ve done all of it. Ask your boyfriend.”
There was so much wrong with that last sentence that he wasn’t even sure how to tackle it. If she knew they weren’t together, why would she say that? Did she know? What had Laith told her? Also, and perhaps more importantly, why would Laith know about all the things she’d done in bed? Speechless, Theodore simply held the stare.
“To be fair, I haven’t been to the dungeon in years,” Laith commented, “and for as much as you brag about it, you don’t really show up either.”
The dungeon? Theodore’s eyes widened.
D’angela shook her limp hand, waiving the air. “I was a lot more active when I was younger, okay? I just don’t have the time anymore. Plus, it’s really difficult to find people my age anywhere these days. I consistently come across twenty-year-olds and it makes me depressed. It’s a whole thing.”
Theodore glanced at Ms. Intervention. “Are they really talking about a sex dungeon?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so? I’ve never been, but a lot of people really enjoy these kinds of spaces.”
He turned back to D’angela. “Are you talking about a sex dungeon?”
“No, not this one. I’ve never been to those. I liked the ones you went to for scenes. I was big into rope; it was my craft. I used to be really good too. People always came to me for my art; we’d play for hours. It was the most fun I’d ever had.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing; I just don’t really go anymore. I’ve become pretty anti-social these days. Now I just practice on my friends. Lucy and Shark have both seen my skills with the rope.”
Theodore glanced between the three of them—a little grossed out, to be honest. “You guys sleep together?” That couldn’t be right.
“No!” The limp hand slapped him on the arm. “Rope isn’t sexual. I mean, it can be, but to me, it’s an art form, just like drag. The rope I tie around Lucy’s arms sometimes has nothing sexual about it.”
“It’s really beautiful, actually,” Ms. Intervention added. “It’s not really my thing, but I can still appreciate art in all its forms.”
“Wait, so.” He was really confused. “Do you tie people up for sex or not? You said you gag and spank them and stuff.”
“Yes, but that’s something else. That’s what I like to do in bed.”
That didn’t make any goddamn sense.
“How’s that any different than the stuff in the dungeon? I thought sex dungeons were the only kind of dungeon. You don’t have sex in there?”
“Not in all of them—not in most of them. They’re primarily a place for fun, not sex. For me, it was a place where I could show off my art and maybe meet a handsome guy who was interested in me. Handcuffing a man to the bedpost and tying intricate patterns on a stranger are two completely different things. The first one is hot, the second one is art.”
“But that’s a kink.”
“Yes, but kinks aren’t inherently sexual.”
“How? Aren’t kinks literally just what you think is hot?”
“No. A kink can be a preference, something you’re interested in or your idea of fun. It really depends. Of course, a kink that’s sexual to you can be non-sexual to others and vice versa. For example, some people find bondage really sexy, but I don’t feel anything sexual towards it. Some people think of impact play as a form of athleticism, while I think it’s sexy. It’s different for everyone.”
“Why would you get spanked if you didn’t get off on it?”
“There are a million different answers to this. Do you know what a scene is?”
He shook his head.
She breathed in deeply, chest puffing out. At this point, the group was already back in the apartment building, climbing up the stairs. Laith led the way with Theodore right behind, followed by D’angela and Ms. Intervention.
“Okay, a scene is a space that we create with the person we’re going to play with. We discuss what we want to accomplish, how we want to feel, how long it’s gonna last, what will be the beginning, middle and end and anything else we find important. Usually, one of us is a dom and the other is a sub, but that’s not a requirement. This scene can be sexual if we want it to be, or not, if we just want to play. For example, a sexual scene between me and one of my exes included tying him up, spanking him and making him feel dominated. That was what he got off on—the feeling of powerlessness. A scene that we liked to do that wasn’t sexual included him servicing me, like fetching me glasses of water, changing the TV channel, standing on his hands and knees like a footstool, letting me tie him up and so on. That made him feel useful, but it wasn’t a sexual thing; he just liked feeling that way. That’s the difference.”
Wow, that was fascinating. Did he have any kinks that weren’t sexual? Probably. He’d never really stopped to consider the feelings he enjoyed and what he liked to do in relation to others, so he couldn’t really put a finger on it. It’d be interesting to figure that out, though. He knew he liked feeling powerful, that when Laith did what he ordered turned him on, but just like the spanking from last night, it was a sexual thing. He still had a lot to learn about himself, sexually or not.
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