By the time I unlocked my truck and hopped in, I was smiling. I’d go to Mass in the morning and then in the afternoon I’d have the scene with Gabby. I looked forward to both, and for the first time in a long while I didn’t have the intense urge to go back to my apartment and take out the flogger.
I wasn’t home for more than ten minutes when I got a call from Mamma Cattaneo. Her first name was Viviana, but to everyone who was considered family, she was Mamma. When I picked up, she didn’t even give me a chance to say hello.
“Ethan, you’ll come to supper tonight, yes?”
I had a sneaking suspicion that Gabby told her mother I could use the company. “Si, Mamma,grazie. What’s on the menu?”
“Your very favorite, next to pasta,” she said. I heard the smile in her voice. “Involtiniepolenta.”
I licked my lips at the mention of braised beef rollups with polenta. “My mouth is watering already, Mamma. What time should I be there?”
“Any time you want, Ethan,” she said, her tone gracious and warm. “Teddy is getting here at three to watch the baseball game with Franco. We’ll eat right after, between six and six thirty.”
“Bene,” I said, always happy when the opportunity arose for me to slip into my native Sicilian language. “I’ll be there at three.”
I remembered the first time Frank had taken me home for dinner. His wife had hugged me, elated that I was Sicilian like her. As a result, our conversation flowed easily, unlike with Frank—Franco when he was at home—who was from northern Italy, and whose dialect was starkly dissimilar.
She’d taken my hand and led me into the spacious kitchen where the air was aromatic, filled with the scent of herbs—oregano, rosemary, and bay leaves with a potent whiff of garlic. My mouth had watered then, too. She laughed, gave me another hug, then insisted from then on that I call her Mamma.
Initially, I’d felt disloyal to my biological mother. But when I spoke to my therapist about it, Andrew had asked, “When was the last time you’ve spoken to your mother?”
I shrugged. “I don’t even remember. Last year sometime.”
“In this moment, who do you feel closer to emotionally?”
“Mrs. Cattaneo. She’s maternal and checks in with me at least once a week.”
And that was that. I never thought badly again about addressing Mrs. Cattaneo as Mamma. I showed up at their house every two weeks or so. Not always to eat. Sometimes, I’d stop just to say hello or bring Frank and Mamma Italian pastries from Noto Patisserie.
That evening, with a full stomach and a container of leftovers, I said my goodbyes to them, wishing I could take theloving, homey energy with me. Driving to my empty apartment, I thought back to when I’d been passionate about eventually having a husband, a house, and children. A traditional, vanilla family despite my lackluster childhood experience with aloof parents who were more concerned about their students at Stanford University than about me. Their lack of love stung. Deeply.
But then I’d gone to a BDSM club with a university friend who was a member. He’d showed me around, and we watched several scenes that had my cock so stiff, I’d sported a hard-on the whole time we were there. Before we left that night, my friend took me to meet the club manager, and I’d left with an application form.
From my initial encounter with the kink lifestyle, I devoured all the information I found with the help of my friend. And then, after meeting a Dom who offered to be my mentor, I learned firsthand about a Dominant/submissive relationship—and the power of the flogger.
I’d continued to be diligent, soaking up everything the Dom taught me about contracts, consent, safety, and safewords. He’d played with me on the St. Andrew’s cross and initiated me into the exquisite balance of pleasure and pain.
All went well for several blissful years until one night, I was sitting at the bar in the club. My three-month contract had ended and the Dom I’d been with informed me that he wasn’t interested in renewing it. I’d been devastated. He was the second Dom who had dropped me. Consequently, I’d been miserable and feeling emotionally exposed and vulnerable. Being in a contracted D/s relationship took a lot of trust. I was tired of giving of myself without getting any reciprocation.
That was, until one night at the club, a Dom approached me for an impact scene. After we finished, he asked me to have dinner with him the following evening to talk abouta short-term contract. He’d been persuasive… smooth-talking. And in hindsight, I understood the Dom’s ability to tap into my submissiveness and weakness. His name was Thorne. And from that day forward, my life became a living hell.
FOUR
JUDE
On Sunday mornings before Mass,I had a habit of peeking out onto the congregation from the sacristy to determine the number of wafers to have ready for communion. As I surveyed each row, I calculated mentally. After finishing the left side of the church, I passed the number on to the acolyte, the young man assisting me. When I turned back to the congregation, I was at the last pew on the other side of the aisle when my brain stuttered. Ethan. I almost lost count.
What was he doing here? He’d never come to Mass before. Then my mouth turned up in a half smile when Ethan looked at the women on either side of him, kneeling. At the sight of them, he dropped to his knees, made the sign of the cross as the women had. They sat back on the wooden seats. He followed their lead.
Then Ethan turned his gaze to the sacristy door. Our eyes met, my brown ones connecting with his seagrass-green ones.
“Father, it’s time,” the acolyte respectfully said.
I closed the door and turned back into the sacristy. I always prepared myself mentally for Mass. Right then, I asked God tonot let my mind stray. I nodded to the acolyte, who preceded me onto the sanctuary in front of the altar. I bent and kissed the altar cloth, then turned to the congregation. I had the option of three greetings to begin Mass and decided on brevity.
I made the sign of the cross, after which I extended my arms and made a slow turn around, closing my eyes momentarily where Ethan sat. “The Lord be with you.”
The people responded. “And with your spirit.”
